Six Weeks To Midnight
by tracyh
Summary: An AU story. When Arthur and Gwen endure a terrible tragedy their relationship falls apart. Can they find a way back to each other before it's too late? Rated an M for the subject matter, but also for something else that may occur later.
1. Chapter 1

Six Weeks To Midnight

Author's Note: I've never written an AU story before. I like reading some AU stuff, but I've usually kept to the scenarios presented in whatever show/book I might be writing about and expanded on them for my own stories. I've never taken characters out of their natural setting and set them somewhere else. However, I have had a story beating my brain in for a few days now and I need to get rid of it by writing it.

I should probably warn you that this story is partly about cot death and the catastrophic effect this can have on relationships. In a way I suppose it is about grief and how people deal with that, so it won't start off as a particularly happy story, but if you can stick with me, we will get there.

As ever, please read and review. Reviews make me happy and make me write faster.

Guinevere Pendragon was in bed when the letter-box on her front door rattled. It didn't wake her. She'd been awake for at least an hour, mentally cursing the way her body clock insisted on waking her on one of the few days she didn't need to set her alarm to go off at the crack of dawn.

Guinevere worked as a carer for a local care agency. She had a dozen or so regular clients, mostly elderly, all either ill or frail in some way and unable to care for themselves without help. Her job involved caring for people in their own homes, going in and getting them up, giving meals, helping them wash and dress, or, on the days when she worked the late shift, going in and helping them get ready for bed, or whatever else might need to be done. She'd been doing the job for three years now and loved it. She knew there were some who did it for the salary in the bank at the end of each month, such as it was, but Guinevere, Gwen to all her regulars, loved the feeling she got from making someone feel better, even if all she'd done was help them have a proper wash or a shower, or taken one of them out for a while, maybe to do a bit of shopping for themselves, rather than having to ask someone to do it for them. Gwen loved the satisfaction it brought her to think that she was helping people to be independent, to stay in their own homes a bit longer, even if the hours were long and the pay less than it could have been.

Sighing, Gwen sat up in bed and pushed the quilt away from her body. She looked at the time on her bedside clock. The digital display glowed red in the dim light of the room. 6.30am. Gwen smiled ironically. "Oh well, an hour's lie-in is better than none huh?' she announced to the empty room. She shook her head, reminding herself she'd promised to stop talking to herself.

Giving her quilt another shove out of the way, pushing it over towards the other side of the double bed, the side that hadn't been slept on for months, Gwen got up, grabbing her favourite dressing gown from the back of the bedroom door and slipped it on over the night-shirt she was wearing. On her way down the hallway of her flat she remembered the crash letter-box made earlier and stopped to retrieve her mail. She scanned quickly through her post, noticing a couple of plain white envelopes she would need to forward, before she came to a thick brown envelope with a window on the front with her name and address typed neatly on the document within. Doing her best not to think about what this item of post could be, Gwen grabbed all the letters together and went through to the kitchen. She flicked on the kettle absently, the click it made as it came on filling the silent room. She put the post down on the kitchen table and waited for the water to boil in the kettle before putting some coffee in a mug and filling it with the steaming water. She picked up her mug of coffee, the strong odour reaching through her thoughts as they turned back to the brown envelope on the table. She sat down at the table, reached for the envelope and slid her finger along the opening. Gwen took out the documents inside, noting their stark nature, their very plainness mocking the magnitude of their importance. Among the brief description of the documents at the top of the page, Gwen saw two names. Her own describing her as the respondent, the other, Arthur Pendragon, the petitoner.

Gwen stared at the page as she sipped her coffee. She wondered how she was supposed to feel. Was she supposed to be happy that the end was in sight? Was she supposed to cry, phone her best friend in floods of tears? As she sat there, Gwen didn't feel either way. Instead, as she looked at the Decree Nisi once more, all she felt was sadness that something that had started out with such joy had come to this, the beginning of the end of her marriage on a few pages of coldly written legal documents.

Gwen went into the living room and switched on the TV. The babble from the frothy breakfast TV presenters couldn't distract her from the documents still sitting on the kitchen table. She looked around the room, taking in the comfortable but modern décor, the TV in the corner of the room, the leather sofa she sat on, the smart storage space for knick-knacks and photographs on the walls. She caught sight of one of the pictures, her and Arthur wrapped in each other's arms, him in his best suit and her in a beautiful ivory dress, cut low enough to show a little of her cleavage - enough to make Arthur smile like the cat that got the cream she mused – but not enough to be indecent, after all, they did have a church wedding. They'd been photographed without realising, both of them oblivious to anything but each other as they came out of the church in their first moments as man and wife. Gwen remembered coming out of the church, Arthur instinctively wrapping his arm around her to shield her from the chilly breeze of late September. Then, before they moved any further, Arthur took her in his arms and kissed her. He pulled out of the kiss slowly, almost reluctantly, after several long moments. Gwen remembered following him as he eased away, as a flower reaches for the morning sun, her eyes opening slowly as she sensed the loss of him. Then, seeing her disappointed expression, Arthur took her face into his hands tenderly and gazed at her. He looked at her with such adoration, such devotion, it took her breath away. She reached up to her cheek and covered one of his hands with one of her own, trying to tell him without words that she knew how he felt because she felt it too. It was in this moment of silent communion that they'd been photographed, and there the image was, a reminder of how they had once been so happy.

Gwen's eye was drawn to another photograph. This time she is lying in a hospital bed, tired and dishevelled, while Arthur sits in a chair beside her, leaning towards her, an expression of weary joy in his eyes. Arthur's hand is stretched out over her, not to hold her this time, but to touch the bundle cradled in her arms. Gwen gazes down on the baby in her arms, her face a picture of awe and wonder. Anyone looking at the photograph can see exactly what she is thinking, how could anyone believe they had made something so perfect as the newborn boy she held in her arms?

As Guinevere looked at the photograph of her family, she felt a familiar stab of pain around her heart. The happiness of the day her son, Gwydre, was born, was shattered, broken into a thousand tiny shards of agony, all within the blink of an eye.

Three months almost to the day after Gwydre was born she'd woken up to perfectly normal day. Arthur wasn't due in to work until late; he was a director for the chain of estate agents his father owned, which gave him certain perks. A company car, a nice flat in a smart part of town, a couple of holidays a year, at least before the baby was born, all of it came courtesy of Pendragon Homes, a company Arthur's father, Uther, had started from scratch and worked all the hours God sent to keep going. The good side of that was that they could afford to do things they wanted, which was a contrast to her own family, where the only thing available in abundance was love. The down side was that Uther had never really had time for his son. Gwen remembered Arthur telling her stories about his childhood. His mother was killed in a car accident when he was three, so all his memories of her were fuzzy to say the least. All he really remembered of her was that she smelled nice and she was blonde. So, he was brought up by his father, or rather, a succession of nannies, seeing as Uther was always working. Arthur vowed the day Gwydre was born that he would always make time for him, would always get home from work to help with bath time and tuck him in to bed. He'd been as true as his word.

The distance between Arthur and his father continued as Arthur grew up. On the surface they got on, Arthur went into the family firm almost as soon as he finished college, so he had to see his father every day, but underneath it all their relationship was aloof and remote. They spoke to each other politely, like employer and employee rather than father and son. Where Arthur spent all his free time talking to little Gwydre, telling him things, teaching him things, whether the boy understood what his father was going on about or not, Gwen had never once witnessed Uther talking to Arthur without it sounding like he was giving him orders. Where Arthur was always holding Gwydre, cradling him on his lap, or carrying him around, Gwen had never once witnessed any sort of display of affection between Uther and Arthur.

So, on the most normal day anyone could imagine, Arthur and Gwen, who was still on maternity leave from work, stayed in bed just a bit later than they normally would. Truth be told, they'd woken at dawn. They made love as the first orange rays of the sun began to creep through the light bedroom curtains. Then, sated and relaxed, they dozed in each other's arms. At some point they must have both drifted back to sleep properly, because they were woken by the sound of a car starting as one of the neighbours went to work.

Gwen remembered thinking that she needed to go and check on Gwydre. She'd got used to him sleeping all night now and didn't feel the need to worry when he didn't wake in the night for a bottle or a nappy change. As she looked at the time though, she realised it was a good hour after he would normally wake, so he was bound to be hungry. She went to get up, but Arthur beat her to it, going in to the baby in just his boxer shorts, which he'd grabbed off the floor where he'd thrown them, along with her nightshirt, earlier. Putting the boxer shorts on and throwing the nightshirt to her as he grinned wickedly, he went towards the baby's room.

Gwen was just slipping in to the nightshirt when she heard what could only be described as a cry. The sound startled her. She'd never heard anything like that before. Her heart jumped into her throat and pounded furiously when she realised it was Arthur who had made the horrific sound. He sounded frightened, really terrified. Fear gripped Gwen's insides as she jumped out of bed and ran to Gwydre's room. She didn't have time to wonder what was wrong. All she could think was that something had happened to Gwydre. Something was very, very wrong.

When Gwen got to Gwydre's room she saw Arthur standing by the cot. He had picked up the baby and was cradling him, just as he'd done hundreds of times before. She noticed how Arthur's body was rocking slightly, as if he was trying to get the baby off to sleep, but the baby made no sound. Arthur was moaning as if he was in pain, tears cascading down his face, but all the time he rocked the baby. Gwen felt the terror rising inside her as she took in the scene in front of her. She wanted to ask Arthur what was wrong, why he was crying, but somewhere inside she knew. Something deep down told her she needed to do something. Without asking she grabbed the baby from Arthur, dragging him out of the stupor he'd been in. He stared at her in horror for a moment until Gwen shouted at him to call an ambulance. He continued to stand there, looking at her as she went down on her knees, laying the baby on the floor and started to try to give him mouth-to-mouth. When she realised Arthur wasn't moving, Gwen shouted at him again. This time she got through to him, because he flew from the room to the phone. Somewhere in the back of her mind she could hear him as he made the call, she could hear the panic in his voice as he tried to gather his thoughts enough to tell the operator what was wrong.

Gwen continued to try to resuscitate the baby until the ambulance arrived. She remembered the paramedics rushing in, taking over, almost pushing her out of the way. She watched them as they worked on the baby, doing everything they could to get him back. Then she saw as the two men exchanged a look. One of them shook his head and then slowly, both of them took their hands away from the baby.

The rest of the day was a blur to Guinevere. She and Arthur went with the baby to the hospital, his tiny body wrapped completely in a blanket the paramedics had covered him with. At the hospital the baby had been taken away and a doctor came out eventually and sat down with them. Gwen knew without being told what he was going to say. It was written all over his face. Gwydre was dead. The doctor, a young man who looked hardly more than a teenager himself, expressed his sympathy for their loss and told them what needed to happen next. Guinevere's mind switched off as he talked of the need for a post-mortem, as it was a sudden death, and he advised them that the police might call round and speak to them at home. When Arthur, tears still rolling down his face, demanded to know why, the younger man looked confused, as if no one had ever questioned him before. Gathering himself quickly and pushing his hands into the pockets of his white coat, the doctor explained it was routine 'in these sorts of cases'.

Much later, when they'd finished all the arrangements that could be made at the hospital and been given a tiny bag which held Gwydre's clothes, Arthur and Guinevere knew they had to go home. The tears and fear from earlier in the day had made way for a sort of numb disbelief. Thanks to the kindness of the A and E receptionist, a cab was called for Arthur and Gwen. They were driven home and the driver dismissed Arthur when he tried to pay him for their journey. The receptionist who made the call had obviously told the taxi company what had happened.

As soon as they got inside the flat Arthur and Gwen went to their room. Fully clothed, they flopped down on the bed. Neither of them slept that night. They lay there in the dark, consumed by the realisation that their baby had gone. It didn't occur to either of them that they hadn't spoken a word to each other in hours.

Dragging herself out of her memories, Guinevere went back to her bedroom for some clothes. She was getting dressed she told herself, and then she was going out. Sitting around moping had never done anyone any good, so she was going out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors Note: First and foremost, my thanks for the reviews for chapter one of this. I'm a total review junkie!**

**I know my subject matter has caused a bit of angst for one or two. Well, you were warned. I've read a lot of Arthur/Guinevere fics where they face adversity in one way or another. I know of one particularly brilliant one, which I have to say I'm totally addicted to and have yet to review, where Arthur and Gwen face the possibility of splitting up, or rather, could be forced to. What I have never read, at least not to my knowledge, is one which starts with them split. The temptation to try it proved too much for me, but I knew it wasn't that simple. Arthur and Gwen, in whatever guise you put them, are very much in love. Couples who are very much in love do not split up over nothing. So, I tried to think of what the worst thing they could have to face in their relationship might be. The answer lay, at least in part, in a reference I found on the net to the idea that they might have had children. A lot of stuff I am loosely aware of suggests that Guinevere was infertile, which was considered a punishment for her dalliance with Lancelot. I dismissed that idea on two grounds. Firstly, if you know anything about the legends Lancelot and Guinevere are only linked in very few versions. Secondly, Lancelot and Guinevere have been done to death somewhat. I couldn't think of any way I could put a new twist on an old legend, so I dismissed it.**

**I came back to the idea of Arthur and Gwen and the children they might have had. I did some reading a while back and discovered they could have had a number of children, but one was called Gwydre and he died. Somehow the idea of that formed in my mind. I don't have children, but I have experienced grief, more than once, and know how devastating it can be. I also have siblings with children and I know from talking to them, and from talking to other people I know, the thing a parent fears most is something happening to their child. Time and time again I have heard people say that they don't know how parents go on when they lose a child, so it made me wonder how Arthur and Gwen would deal with it. As you can tell from the first chapter of this, it appears as if they haven't dealt with it very well, but I think you have to take a step back. In the opening chapter they have endured a terrible shock. They have found their three month old son dead. I know from situations in my own life that grief makes you do and say things you might not ordinarily do and say. Sometimes it brings people together. Sometimes it drives a wedge into relationships. Given the shock they have endured, it strikes me as not surprising that Arthur and Guinevere are not at their most communicative. Both are grieving, both wrapped up in their own pain. **

**In showing Arthur as the one who initially falls apart, crying, all of that, I wanted to show how Arthur and Gwen are dealing with their grief in different ways. Gwen's initial reaction is to try to get Gwydre back. Of course it would be, but then this is taken away from her when the paramedics arrive and take over, only to then stop, because it's too late. Where we effectively join them is in the period where the initial shock of what happened has started to recede a little. All that fear and panic they went through initially has faded to a sort of numbness. They know Gwydre is dead, but they neither of them understand it or know how to process all the feelings that go with it, which will be explored. **

**The other thing that struck me is that neither one is very good at dealing with their feelings, particularly Arthur, but Guinevere can also be as bad. I can think of a few examples from the series – and my Arthur and Gwen, though modern, are more like them than the couple from the legends – where they would have worked a few things out very quickly if they'd just talked, but there is very little drama to be had in that.**

**I know some people will think it's shocking that Arthur and Gwen are at the point of divorce – I'll explain that more in a second. Some will think it's more shocking that it is Arthur who has filed for the divorce. I would argue that neither case shocks me. Arthur and Gwen have stopped communicating. From the moment they find Gwydre they don't utter a word to each other, apart from when Guinevere is shouting at Arthur to call an ambulance. I am going to try to show, probably with flashbacks of some sort, how deep this lack of communication has gone after Gwydre's death, which should make it clearer to understand. As for Arthur filing for the divorce, I can think of a few situations in the series where Arthur has done things on the spur of the moment, sometimes guided by other people, but also because he thought he was doing the right thing or because he was frightened. Initially I was going to have Guinevere filing, but I could not see a scenario where she would. What I do think is that she would go along with Arthur's decision if she thought that was what he wanted, or she believed it was for the best. I think there is evidence from the series that Gwen behaves in this way at times. However, what I do want to say right from the start is that the state Gwen and Arthur are in is no one's fault. Arthur has not abandoned Gwen in her grief. He hasn't given up prematurely. Neither of them have. What they have done is lost sight of each other in the light of what has happened to them. They don't know how to help themselves anymore, let alone a grieving spouse. They've stopped communicating because they simply can't process what has happened. Maybe, just maybe, they are both frightened to talk, scared of the emotions they know that will bring.**

**What I do need to qualify, finally, is that Arthur and Gwen are still married at the start of this. Under British law, which is what I have gone by, a Decree Nisi is only the beginning of the end of the divorce process. Once a Decree Nisi has been issued by the courts, the petitioner, i.e. Arthur, is unable to apply for a Decree Absolute for 6 weeks and one day after the issue of the Decree Nisi. It is only when the Decree Absolute is issued that a couple are officially divorced, so at this point Arthur and Gwen are still married. I should point out that if at the end of the 6 weeks and one day the petitioner does not apply for the Decree Absolute, the respondent, i.e. Guinevere, could do so, but only after a three month period has passed. Either way, Arthur and Guinevere are not yet divorced.**

**So, having written what probably amounts to the longest author's note in history, let's get on with the business of seeing where Arthur and Gwen go from here. Please read and review. What can I say other than you know I like it when you do and it is a known fact that writing happens much more quickly when writers are reviewed.**

Gwen got into her car and drove across town. Arthur's car was a great big company car, a silver grey thing with electric windows and power steering and absolutely no character. All she had was a little mini, an old model she'd found on the internet after she'd passed her driving test a couple of years before she'd met Arthur, and she adored it. She cast her mind back to the day she dragged her Dad out to the middle of nowhere to have a look at it before she committed herself to buying. She chuckled at the memory of the expression on his face when he saw what he rudely called 'a bright red bloody rust bucket' at first glance, but when he checked it over – Gwen calculated that once he was over the initial shock it probably took him about thirty seconds to start calling the car 'her' and 'she' – he found it was in decent condition and roadworthy, in spite of it already having done thousands of miles.

'They don't make 'em like that anymore sweetheart', was her Dad's final verdict on the 'bloody rust bucket' as she wrote the seller, a sweaty, overweight bloke with a bald patch he tried to hide by combing over his remaining grey hair, who probably hadn't fitted in to the car for about fifteen years, a cheque. Gwen didn't reply. She just rolled her eyes and told her Dad she would follow him home and give the car a decent test drive. The car hadn't given her a moments trouble ever since, even though it had to do miles every day for her job.

A year or so later her Dad suffered a slight stroke. He'd been all right, thank God, but it had left him with a certain amount of weakness on his right side. When he realised he had a problem he just laughed it off, telling everyone it was just as well he could pick his nose with his left hand. By the time she'd met Arthur her Dad, Tom, had regained most of his strength. The only clue to him having any sort of an issue was that he walked with a bit of a limp and had a tendency to trip over his own feet at times. When she went home one day and announced that Arthur had asked her to marry him, Tom decided he would be fit enough to walk her down the aisle, which he did, two years later.

As she drove the short distance to her Dad's house, the house she'd grown up in, she could still recall the pride in Tom's eyes when he took in her appearance before they left for the church on her wedding day. Her Mum had died when Gwen was ten, so her Dad brought her and her younger brother Elyan up on his own. With Elyan and her maid of honour, an old friend from school, on their way to the church, Gwen took in those last precious minutes with her Dad. After several long minutes when he looked her up and down he took her into his arms and held her close. Gwen could feel him sigh as he held her and wondered if he was thinking about her Mum. Then he pulled away and gazed at her with his warm brown eyes.

"Just you remember my girl," Tom said softly, "however much he thinks he loves you, he could never love you like I do". Gwen knew he was talking about Arthur, but she couldn't respond. A lump the size of a golf ball had settled in the back of her throat. Tom went on, his voice full of emotion. "I love you more than anything else in the world and I know you're going to be happy with Arthur, he's a decent young man, he loves you and you'll be his before the end of the day, but just you remember, you will always, always, be mine first" and then he took her hand in his and led her out to the car they'd hired to take them to the church.

Gwen parked the car outside her Dad's house and walked up the small path to his front door. She let herself in with a key her Dad had given her when she was 16 and old enough, in his opinion, to come and go as she pleased a bit more, as long as she was sensible and didn't take liberties. Gwen had to smile when she remembered that Elyan, two years younger than her with a rebellious streak a mile long, didn't get his front door key until he was 19 and on the brink of completing his college course in something to do with IT that Gwen didn't really understand and had no interest in, especially because she'd just met a handsome young estate agent called Arthur Pendragon who she was spending a lot of her time with.

Elyan eventually went off on what he described as a gap year, which in actual fact became two years. He came home briefly when Tom had his stroke and for Arthur and Guinevere's wedding, but then he was off again, this time permanently. He took Guinevere and their Dad aside at the wedding reception and told them he'd been offered a job in Canada which was too good to turn down. He left a month after Gwen and Arthur were married and was still out there now, almost three years later. He kept in touch though, phoning their Dad at least a couple of times a week and talking to Gwen by Skype and e-mail. Gwen still remembered his reaction when she told him she was pregnant, a year or so after her marriage. He'd been over the moon, so excited at the thought of being an uncle. Right from the start he was convinced the baby was a boy, wouldn't hear of any other possibility, however much Gwen tried to convince him otherwise. When Gwydre was born she sent her brother a simple text in bold letters, 'SMART-ARSE!' She could have sworn she heard him laughing from thousands of miles away.

When, three months later, Gwydre died, Gwen couldn't face telling Elyan. She knew she should, he was her brother after all. He deserved to find out from her, rather than someone else, but she just couldn't make herself do it. She asked Tom to do it instead and he did, a few days after Gwydre's death. She didn't need to ask how Elyan had taken the news. He called her as soon as he'd come off the phone with Tom. Gwen spent an hour talking to him, trying to drag herself out of the numbness which had settled around her mind. Deep inside she stamped down an urge to scream for Gwydre as Elyan sobbed on the end of the line.

Elyan hadn't been able to come home for the funeral. He'd made his excuses, saying work was crazy and he just couldn't get away. Gwen suspected he just couldn't bear it. Instead he sent flowers, not a wreath, but a simple white arrangement that seemed to capture Gwydre's innocence perfectly. It took Gwen a few moments to register the fact that the arrangement her brother had sent was bigger than the little coffin that held the body of her son.

"It's only me Dad, don't get up", Gwen called as she let herself into her old family home. She knew Tom was probably having a sit down and a cup of tea while he read his morning paper. She also knew he had a tendency to try to race to the front door when he had visitors, which had caused a few minor accidents since his stroke, so she'd taken to letting herself in and announcing herself when she arrived. Tom had been given a stick to walk with recently, just to make him steadier on his feet, but Gwen knew he resented it, saying using 'the bloody thing makes me feel like an old dodderer'. Gwen tried to explain it was for his own good, which made him pull a face, but when she asked him to use it for her sake, he softened. Tom didn't say anything, but he could see the strain Gwen was under, what with little Gwydre's death and what he thought of as the 'insane' divorce proceedings, so he gave in and used the stick. He didn't want to give Guinevere something else to worry about, she had enough on her plate.

"Hi Dad, how are you?" Gwen greeted her father with a peck on the cheek. Tom was sitting at his kitchen table, the morning newspaper spread out in front of him.

Gwen looked around the familiar old kitchen with its design that would have been the height of fashion in the fifties and sixties, but looked a bit worn and dated now. The table lay against the wall adjacent to the kitchen door. On the wall opposite the table were cupboards, three on the wall and three at ground level, all with cheap white doors, one of which had dropped slightly off its hinge. On top of the cupboards on floor level was a formica worktop. It was a sort of dark colour, not light enough to be grey, but not quite dark enough to be black. There was a chip in part of the worktop that had been roughly covered years before. Tom had damaged the worktop when he installed it when Gwen was a baby. Thinking his wife, Maisie, would go mad when she saw what he'd done, he'd tried to cover the mess he made by using some cheap filler he found, but it had ended up looking worse. When Maisie saw the mess her new worktop was in, far from being annoyed, she burst out laughing. Tom thanked his lucky stars his wife had a sense of humour.

Next to the floor cupboards was an old cooker. Gwen couldn't remember when the cooker was fitted, so she assumed it was at least as old as her. It certainly looked it. Still, it did the job and Tom flatly refused to part with it.

At the end of the kitchen was a small window which let a tiny bit of light into the room in the summer, but in the winter Tom had to keep a light on all day just to see what he was doing. In front of the window was the sink area. It consisted of a stainless steel sink with three cupboards in the same materials and colours as the others beneath it. Next to the sink was a small draining board, which currently held a tea plate and a table knife, and then there was a small area of workspace Tom used for making tea. Tom had obviously used the old grill on the cooker to prepare himself some toast that morning, before settling with a cup of tea and his paper. Gwen was glad her Dad was looking after himself, but she made a mental note to get him a smoke alarm. She pushed away a thought in the back of her mind that if they'd bought a baby alarm when Gwydre was born he might not…..

"Hello sweetheart", Tom replied, dragging his daughter from her thoughts. He hugged her gently in greeting and gathered his newspaper together, folding it neatly. "I'm all right, how about you?" Tom turned towards Guinevere and looked at her closely, almost like he was inspecting her. "You look tired", Tom observed after a few seconds. "Are you eating properly?"

Gwen sighed. She loved her Dad to bits, but he had the ability to make her feel like a five year old. She knew he only worried because he cared, but sometimes his concern for her welfare was exhausting, especially lately. Mind you, Gwen thought to herself, everything was exhausting lately, but she couldn't say that out loud, not to Tom. Not to anyone. Pulling a smile up from somewhere, Gwen sat down on the kitchen chair opposite her father, being careful as she sat not to rest her hand on the middle cupboard alongside her, the one with the dodgy hinge.

"I'm all right Dad, and yes, I am eating properly thanks." She smiled brighter, hoping she'd convinced him.

Tom nodded benevolently. "Help yourself to some breakfast love, and stick the kettle on. We'll have a fresh cup of tea and you can sit there and eat something while you tell your old Dad all about it."

Gwen sighed heavily again. She couldn't fool her Dad for a second.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: The observant among my readers will notice I introduced Tom, Guinevere's Dad, in my previous chapter. I originally thought of having him dead, because he died in the series, but I just couldn't do it. I think Guinevere is going through quite enough without a dead Dad to deal with as well, so Tom is very much alive and will remain so. I knew Tom and Elyan would be useful characters because they allow me to show the impact of Gwydre's death on the wider family. I thought Tom would be interesting because he would see all too clearly the state Guinevere is in, because she certainly can't just now. I thought Tom might also be good for a bit of light relief every now and then, and Tom and Elyan, plus a few other characters I intend to use, do give the story some depth.**

**I should say thanks for the reviews I have received. One in particular moved me a great deal, because it is from someone who writes wonderful stuff. Check out 60 by kbrand5333, not to mention a bunch of other wonderful Arthur and Gwen fics, both au and canon. Awesome stuff!**

**As for this, I was asked in a review if I intend to write from Arthur's perspective as well as Gwen's. Initially I thought not, funnily enough. It made sense initially to write from Gwen's point of view, but allow Arthur's take on things to come out through her, until they come face to face. The problem with that is that it would only give you what Arthur does, what Gwen thinks he is thinking, which would hardly be unbiased and neutral because she isn't thinking clearly and neither is telling the other how they feel – which is sort of the whole point of the story. So, with that in mind, I realised Arthur needed to be heard and seen. Uther gets a look in in this chapter too.**

**What I will say, finally, is that I've checked out a few details, just minor things I wanted to get right in my head before I worked out for sure where I wanted to go with this, i.e. how to get events to where I want them to go, and I now have a pretty clear game plan. I won't say too much, but I will say I'm very much looking forward to writing what I have in mind.**

**Be warned, in its own way this chapter is one of the reasons this story is an M. I think it's fairly subtle, maybe not even an M at all really, but still.**

_Plip_…._plip_…._plip. _Arthur Pendragon sat at his desk flipping metal paper clips into the small black desk tidy he'd had since he began working at Pendragon Homes, one of a chain of estate agencies his father owned. The desk tidy was one of those stupid, impractical things, a couple of long plastic tube shapes joined together, neither of which was big enough to hold more than a few pens and a pencil or two, with two shallow tube shapes on each end, presumably for paper clips, drawing pins and other such stuff, at least that's what he used them for.

Arthur had been working for his father for 7 years. Uther liked to tell people his son worked _with_ him. He made a big show of making Arthur a director of the firm once he'd been there for a couple of years. He'd even gone to the expense of providing him with a company car, a silver grey four door thing which guzzled petrol as it if it was going out of fashion and cost the earth to run. Arthur knew he was probably single-handedly responsible for global warming, but in his defence he'd be able to plead that he was keeping the children of the local mechanic with a roof over their heads, and probably the latest model flat screen TV as well.

The job came with other perks. Arthur knew there weren't many people his age who could afford a couple of holidays a year and a decent 3 bedroom flat on the smart and still relatively new Albion Estate, in what estate agents liked to call 'an affluent area'.

Arthur had bought the flat, one of a series of smart new-builds, around the same time as he met Guinevere. Their relationship developed quickly. On the day Guinevere turned 21 Arthur asked her to marry him and she accepted, but her Dad was still recovering from a stroke he'd had a couple of years previously, a result, Arthur suspected, of years of working a lot of hours and raising two children on his own. Arthur knew he'd been raised by his father too, his mother having died when he was three, but he'd also had a succession of nannies. His father had a business to run and he'd always made it quite clear what came first and it wasn't his son.

Knowing Guinevere was reluctant to leave her Dad while he was still getting back on his feet, figuratively and literally, Arthur swallowed down his disappointment and suggested they wait a while before they married. Arthur could still see the relief on Guinevere's face at his suggestion. A couple of years later Tom was well enough to walk Guinevere down the aisle on their wedding day.

Arthur's mind went back over his wedding. He'd been as nervous as hell. He was convinced he was going to find a way to mess things up and make Guinevere run for the hills. For the thousandth time he turned their relationship over in his mind and asked himself the same question. What the hell was she doing with him? Guinevere was clever, funny and unceasingly kind. Everyone who knew her loved her. She was also exquisitely beautiful. Arthur knew very well if he walked into a room with Guinevere, nine out of ten of the men in the room would turn to look at her. The tenth man would either be trying to chat him up or they would have a guide dog sitting next to them.

Arthur Pendragon knew that though he had a good job, earned enough not to be considered wealthy, but was more than comfortable, and had a decent roof over his head, Guinevere Leodegrance was far too good for him. As he walked back down the aisle after the wedding, Guinevere on his arm, a vision of beauty in an ivory dress which showed off just enough of her figure to bring a smile to his lips, Arthur knew he was the luckiest man alive.

The couple honeymooned a few weeks after their marriage, in October, when Guinevere had been able to take some time off work. Until that time they'd enjoyed a couple of days at the hotel where they held the wedding reception. Arthur still cringed at the memory of their wedding night, or, he smiled wryly, the first part of it. Once they'd said goodnight to all their guests they made their way to their room. Obviously, he'd booked the Bridal Suite. Arthur knew he would never forget the look on Guinevere's face when she saw the room, its big king sized bed and en suite bathroom with a bath that was more than big enough for two. Seeing his chance to do something special, he'd asked the hotel to light some candles in the room. They'd done so, littering them around in groups on all of the available surfaces. They filled the room with a soft, warm light which made Guinevere's skin develop a honeyed glow. He'd picked her up and carried her over the threshold, being extra careful not to bump her head on the door frame of the room or trip over himself, such were his nerves. Then he set her down on her feet, her body sliding down his in a way that made him ache for her, but also made him feel even more nervous.

In the warm light of the room they reached for each other. They hadn't deliberately set out to wait until they were married to sleep together for the first time, but somehow there had never been quite the right moment. Guinevere always seemed busy with Tom or working. Arthur's father always seemed ready with a demand the minute Arthur appeared to be planning anything that didn't involve Pendragon Homes. Neither of them wanted to sneak off somewhere, as if they were doing something they should feel guilty about, so without even thinking about it they'd ended up waiting until they were married. Now the time had come and as Arthur kissed his new wife and began to undo the buttons on the back of her dress, he vowed to be perfect for her.

Afterwards, sitting on the side of the bed, naked as the day he was born, the once crisp white sheet pushed away to his knees and his back to Guinevere, Arthur waited for the floor to open up and swallow him. Shame coursed through his veins. He'd wanted perfection. What he got was finished before it had even begun. It was mortifying and messy. He couldn't look Guinevere in the face.

Guinevere tried to reassure him. She sat up on the bed, moving so she could sit right behind him. She must have been kneeling. In spite of not being able to see her, Arthur could feel her knees in the small of his back, but he didn't complain. He was too embarrassed to move. Then he felt Guinevere change position. She sat up and suddenly her whole torso was pressed against his back. She put her arms under his until her hands reached across his chest. Slowly, gently, she teased one of his nipples as she began to talk. She said it didn't matter. Arthur opened his mouth to contradict, but Guinevere didn't give him chance. She just kept talking, softly, quietly, while her hands started to roam. She said they'd waited a long time for this, it was no wonder they couldn't wait any longer. She said she'd been nervous too, but she said she loved him and they had time to learn about each other. She said they had forever. All the time her hands were moving, touching, stroking, teasing his body, coaxing him out of the shame he was wallowing in. Arthur eventually turned to her. She faced him, naked in the soft light of the room. Arthur took her in, her amber eyes glowing in the candlelight, her skin with its golden glow. He took in her body, her tiny frame disguising her strength of will, her figure with its elegant, sensual curves, her perfect breasts, their dark tips puckering in the cooling room. Guinevere looked at him, open, warm, her eyes shining. Slowly she opened her arms and reached for him.

That night Arthur Pendragon learned that perfection was worth waiting for.

When the newlyweds eventually did go away on honeymoon Uther paid for their trip. Guinevere, typically, tried to see it as a generous gift, an all expenses paid holiday in Barbados, but in reality they both knew the truth. The honeymoon was yet another way for Uther to flash his money around. It had the advantage, from Uther's point of view, of being able to show up Tom, who would never have been able to afford such a gift, but it also gave Uther a say in when he expected his son back to work. He made it abundantly clear that he expected Arthur to be back at his desk in two weeks. It was in these moments when Arthur knew all to well, he may be a company director, but to his father he was just another employee.

A short time before they were married Guinevere found a job. She worked as a carer for a local care agency. At first Arthur couldn't really see the necessity for Guinevere to work, especially doing something like that, which to his eyes seemed menial and beneath her, but he knew Guinevere wouldn't see it like that so he kept his views to himself. He recalled Tom asking if she would give the job up after the wedding. Guinevere had been adamant she wouldn't. She insisted she wasn't working for the money, knowing she didn't need to, but she said she enjoyed helping people and loved the job. When she put it like that Arthur didn't have the heart to argue with her. He pushed down a thought that he'd be wasting his time anyway. Guinevere was easy-going, kindness itself, but she was also fiercely independent.

When they'd been married for a year or so, Guinevere discovered she was pregnant. Arthur knew they probably shouldn't have been surprised. They might not have actively been trying for a baby, but they weren't actively _not_ trying for one either. They were still newlyweds really, he reasoned. It was natural that they would spend a lot of time together within that first year of marriage. It was equally natural that most of that time would be spent in bed, in the shower, in the bath and, surprisingly enough, on the kitchen table once or twice. They'd even discovered a use for the gas guzzler of a car he used. For once Arthur had thanked God that the car had plenty of room.

Arthur still remembered the day Gwydre was born like it was yesterday. He'd gone to work that morning as normal. Guinevere had mentioned something at breakfast about having a bit of discomfort, but when he questioned it she'd told him not to worry. She told him it was probably just the baby practising for the main event and nothing to get excited about. When he left her he kissed her goodbye and told her to phone if she needed anything, or, and he gazed down towards her bump before giving it an affectionate pat as he spoke, if anything happened and she needed him at home. She laughed when he said all he had to do all day was a couple of showings for some new properties just outside town and then he had a meeting with his father, so if she could arrange to go into labour it would be fine. Guinevere had shooed him out of the door and waved him off, watching him through the living room window as he pretended to drag himself away.

Later that day Arthur was sat in his office with his father, stifling a yawn as Uther droned on and on. Then, just as he was beginning to lose the will to live, the phone rang. Uther shut up and glared at Arthur like he'd willed the phone to interrupt. Arthur smothered the urge to laugh by pretending to cough. Then he answered the phone. "Good afternoon, Pendragon Homes, Arthur Pendragon speaking." Arthur tried to sound approachable without sounding over cheerful. He couldn't stand it when he phoned companies and found himself greeted by someone who thought the idea of sounding business-like was to practically sing down the phone or sound like you were talking to an old friend. He went for a tone of approachable efficiency. It worked every time.

There was a bit of a pause before the reply came. "Arthur?"

Arthur smiled brightly, which earned him a frown from his father. Arthur straightened his face quickly. "Hello love, is everything all right?" He asked the question instinctively, knowing full well she would probably tell him everything was fine.

"I think my waters have just broken and I'm pretty sure – no, I know I'm having contractions." Guinevere replied, answering her husband's question calmly, as if what she'd just said was an every day thing.

"You….You what?" Arthur's heart began to pound. He was sure Guinevere would hear it on the other end of the line. He felt the colour draining from his face. He knew he'd probably just sounded really stupid, but he didn't know what else to say. Her words and the calm way she'd spoken, had knocked the stuffing out of him.

"I said I think my waters have bro…."

"I'm on my way love, give me five minutes and I'll be there!" As Arthur interrupted his wife he was grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. He noticed his father's eyes widening just slightly, as if he was wondering what was going on. In that moment Arthur didn't care. The baby, his baby, was coming. He told Guinevere he was on his way right now, totally ignoring her attempt to tell him not to panic, there was no immediate rush, and put the phone down.

"I have to go, Guinevere's in labour" Arthur said urgently, walking towards the door as he spoke.

"But our meeting, we have things to discuss Arthur." Uther frowned, rising from his seat on the other side of the desk.

Arthur turned back to his father briefly, willing himself to be calm. He didn't have time for an argument now. "Not now father, all I need to do now is get home to my wife and take her to the hospital. Then I need to spend the next few hours, or the next day, or however long it takes, holding my wife's hand, wiping her brow or doing cartwheels by her side if she needs me to, to support her while she gives birth to our baby, your first grandchild. What I don't need now is to be standing here talking to you. I need to get home to Guinevere."

For some time after Arthur wondered if he imagined the change that came over Uther's face when Arthur's words sank in. He seemed to soften, just for a moment. He looked younger, brighter, than Arthur could ever remember. Then, equally quickly, the expression on his face changed again. He looked unutterably sad. "Would…..would you tell Guinevere…Would you tell her I said good luck?" The words came out quietly, huskily, as if Uther had something in the back of his throat.

Arthur looked at his father in bewilderment. He couldn't quite believe his ears. If he didn't know better he would swear his father was near to tears. He'd never seen his father cry. He wasn't even sure he was capable of such a thing. Yet, there he was, almost in tears. "I will, I'll definitely do that…Thanks."

Arthur stood in the doorway of his office, facing his father, not quite sure what had just happened, not even sure if he'd imagined it or not. Suddenly the gulf between them seemed to shrink just a bit. Arthur didn't quite know what he thought about that. Part of him wondered if he'd got his father wrong all this time. Maybe Uther wasn't the cold, hard man he imagined. Maybe he did care about things other than his precious business.

Arthur looked at his father and then, swallowing, he opened his mouth. "Look father, I know things haven't….."

Uther's face changed yet again. Suddenly he was Uther Pendragon, Chief Executive and owner of Pendragon Homes again. He met Arthur's gaze with a glare. "I thought you said you were going?"

Arthur Pendragon's mouth fell open, shocked at yet another change in his father's manner. Then, shaking his head in confusion, he turned towards the door and left before Uther could change again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Many thanks for the reviews for chapter three. I do appreciate the feedback. Just to say to one or two though, chill out about the direction of this and trust me. Barring a few details I know exactly where I am going with this now and I will get there. I can even see the end of this in my mind now, but we aren't there yet by any standards. I came up with an interesting idea for the end of this late last night, which seems to work, but Arthur and Guinevere have a road to travel yet.**

**I'm glad the previous chapter went down quite well. I'm quite enjoying this thing where I am playing around with my time line, going backwards and forwards over events. I hope I'm taking you through Arthur and Gwen's life together in a way that lets you see it without getting into a long-winded story, but I hope it isn't too repetitive. In the previous chapter I was keen to show that Arthur and Gwen have been very happy together. I wanted to show that they have had a normal life, both together and as a family with Gwydre. There are a couple of scenes where I wanted to show that Arthur and Gwen have been able to work through difficulties in the past, they have been able to talk to one another i.e. when Arthur suggests they postpone the wedding because of Tom not being well and then Guinevere reassuring Arthur when their wedding night gets off to an awkward start, but something significant has changed. That change is Gwydre's death.**

**Uther was fun to write in the previous chapter. I will be coming back to him through the story. I think there are things with Uther, particularly his relationship with Arthur, that need to be explored. I think Uther's relationship with his son is hugely significant, it was in the series, but it was never examined fully. As for my story, that little scene between Arthur and Uther on the day Gwydre is born was not for nothing. I will definitely be coming back to it.**

**Now, on with this.**

Seventeen hours after Arthur took his wife to the hospital Gwydre Pendragon made his entrance in to the world.

When he arrived home Arthur debated leaving the car's engine running. All the way from the office he'd been anxious about what he would find when he got home. He half expected to find Guinevere on the floor somewhere, where, of course, she'd collapsed, screaming in agony as contractions ripped through her when she opened the front door, which she'd done, of course, in order to prevent him having to take the time to use his front door key, because they would never have two seconds to spare. He envisaged being one of those new fathers who end up in the local paper when they deliver their own babies with nothing more than a towel, a washing up bowl and a bit of basic medical knowledge picked up from surreptitious viewings of Casualty and Grey's Anatomy – even in his own mind he swore blind he didn't watch them really, but it was hardly his fault if Guinevere loved that sort of stuff, was it? If that let him down, which he had a sneaking suspicion it might, there was the odd detail he could still remember from Human Biology at school.

Human Biology, Arthur recalled, was one of those classes he remembered more for all the messing about he'd done with his mates, rather than for anything it taught him about how the body worked, unless, he thought ironically, it came to the details of the very thing that had got him and Guinevere into this situation in the first place, so he considered leaving the engine running while he ran inside, picked Guinevere up and carried her out to the car, before putting his foot down and racing like a formula 1 driver to the hospital. However, when he pulled the car up on the road outside the flat, he could see that the front door was still shut, so, shaking his head and telling himself to stop being a prat, he turned off the engine, before turning it on again. Well, he mused, it didn't hurt to be extra careful. It wasn't as if anyone was going to pinch the car in the few seconds it would take for him to run in and get Guinevere, so leaving the engine running wouldn't hurt. He'd apologise to the ozone layer later. Making sure the handbrake was firmly on Arthur got out of the car and walked up the short pathway between the road and the flat.

"Guinevere!" Arthur called, as he let himself in to the ground floor flat. "Where are you love?" Arthur went into the living room at the front of the flat before looking in the kitchen at the back. Coming out of the kitchen, he tried the bathroom door, which was almost directly opposite, worrying that maybe Guinevere had gone to the loo after phoning him and had managed to lock herself in. He didn't know whether he was relieved or more worried when the door opened easily and no one was inside.

"Guinevere!" Arthur called her again, becoming more anxious. He couldn't figure out where she could be. He knew he didn't have to worry about a garden, living in a flat they didn't have one. Somewhere inside he made a mental note that that would have to change one day, when their family got bigger. He turned his mind away from the future, reminding himself he needed to find his wife. Then, suddenly, he had a thought. Telling himself he was being stupid, he turned from the bathroom doorway and went back down the L-shaped hall, past the kitchen, to the bedrooms. He didn't check the first bedroom. He knew it was just a spare room. It was nicely decorated, ready for any time they had guests, but they didn't really go in there regularly. Arthur knew Guinevere had plans for the room when the baby got older, but until that time it was barely used.

The room opposite the master bedroom was the nursery. Arthur peeked inside. The room was painted in a pale yellow. A white wooden cot stood on the far side of the room as you walked in, near the window. The cot was almost against the wall on that side, but was slightly on an angle. On the walls above the cot were a couple of simple pictures. An owl sat in a tree looked down on the cot from the wall alongside the nursery window. An overgrown bright yellow chick on a pale blue background was on the other wall. About a foot or so from the end of the cot was a small beside table in the same wood as the cot with two shallow drawers. A table lamp with a yellow shade was on top, alongside something that looked rather like an overhead projector for a child. On the wall nearest the door was an area for changing the baby.

Arthur remembered the night when he came in from work to find Guinevere in the nursery, unpacking the 'projector'. He had wondered what it was, but Guinevere said she would show him later. That night, before they went to bed, with the house in darkness, Guinevere switched on the latest addition to the nursery and told him to wait. Soon dozens of tiny stars began to appear on the ceiling, casting a subtle light into the room. It was a beautiful sight. Arthur knew the baby would love his or her special night-light.

A small wardrobe matched the rest of the furniture in the room, again, just slightly off-set from the wall, on an angle. The effect was to make the room feel cosy, but it still provided plenty of floor space. A soft beige carpet covered the floor and a cream rug with a delicate pattern added the finishing touch, along with the curtains to match.

Closing the nursery door softly, Arthur went across the hallway to the master bedroom. He sighed with relief when he found Guinevere there, humming to herself as she packed a small bag. Arthur couldn't see everything she'd packed, but he knew it must be all the things she would need for what she had explained months before would probably only be a short stay in hospital.

"Hello love, everything all right?" Arthur asked as he stepped into the room. He got no answer.

"Guinevere?" He questioned, wondering why she was just carrying on packing her bag, oblivious to his presence. He tried again, getting no answer.

Just as Guinevere was zipping up her overnight bag, Arthur reached over, intending to help. Guinevere started, jumping out of her skin. She relaxed when she saw who was in the room, but put her hand over her heart.

"My God Arthur, what are you trying to do, get me to give birth on the nursery floor!" She cried, as she took out her ipod earphones. "I didn't hear you come in!"

Arthur had stepped back, surprised at the shocked reaction from Guinevere, but now he stepped in to the room and slipped an arm around her. "I'm sorry love. I didn't mean to startle you. I've been calling for the last few minutes. I was getting a bit worried. I thought I was about to find you on the floor with the baby well on the way", he admitted sheepishly. "Are you all right, the shock hasn't…..?" He let the words hang in the air.

Guinevere saw the concern on her husband's face and reached up, kissing him softly on the lips. "I'm sorry for worrying you then, I didn't mean to. I was just packing my bag – well, _our_ bag", she indicated her bump with a gentle smile, "and I thought I'd just have a listen to some music while I did it. Must have got carried away I suppose." She smiled again, brighter.

Arthur kissed his wife again. "Not to worry, as long as you're all right, you and the baby, I don't care. Speaking of which, don't we need to be making a move, I mean, the baby….."

Guinevere chuckled. "If you'd let me finish when I phoned you before putting the phone down on me, you would know that I was trying to tell you that there was no immediate rush. First babies can take a while apparently."

"So we don't need to go?" Arthur deflated slightly, disappointed.

As Guinevere went to answer, she suddenly let out a small gasp. Arthur went to reach for her, startled by her sudden reaction. He went to open his mouth, to say something, he wasn't sure what, but Guinevere cut him off by grasping his arm tightly. Her fingers dug in, he could feel them through the fabric of his jacket, but he didn't complain. Guinevere was in pain, it was etched all over her face. Anxiety for her gnawed at the pit of his stomach. He suddenly felt helpless. He had no idea what to do.

A moment later, just as Arthur was starting to think he should get some help or do something, Guinevere's face began to relax. She released his arm slowly. She looked at the clock on the bedside table alongside their bed and then she looked at Arthur.

"Would you mind carrying my bag for me please sweetheart, it is time to go now."

Arthur's brows arched so much they were almost in his hairline. "Really?"

Guinevere nodded, giggling softly at the stunned look on her husband's face. "Yes love, really."

Arthur Pendragon beamed and then picked up Guinevere's bag. Holding the bag in one hand, he slipped his other arm back around his wife.

"Come on then Mrs Pendragon, let's go and have us a baby."

The next seventeen hours were the most exhausting and emotional of Arthur Pendragon's life up to that point. When they got to the hospital Guinevere was admitted immediately and they were taken straight up to maternity. Guinevere looked relieved when a woman called Anne appeared. She was Guinevere's midwife and they had first met when Guinevere went for the first checks for her pregnancy. Anne, who was probably in her fifties Arthur guessed, was a kind looking woman who worked with an air of calm efficiency.

"Now, don't you go worrying", Anne said to Guinevere as she helped her get more comfortable on her hospital bed when she was first admitted, "we'll get you comfortable and then we'll see where we are. Everything will be just fine." She gifted Arthur with a reassuring smile and somehow he believed her.

Over the many hours that followed Arthur remained at Guinevere's side. At first he was able to talk to her, to keep her company. Then, as the hours went by and the pain worsened he held her hand and tried to be as supportive as he could, whilst inside his heart pumped with a mixture of excitement and fear. He wiped the sweat off her brow, offered her sips of water when she felt like it and did anything he could to give her the comfort she needed, whether that was rubbing her back when she decided she didn't want to lie on the bed any more and needed to stand for a while, or letting her crush his hands in her own when she decided that she needed to lie down after all because standing was too uncomfortable. Anne was a constant presence in the room, but for most of that day and the vast majority of the day that followed, it seemed to Arthur that he and Guinevere were alone together as they brought their baby into the world.

Much later, with Anne directing as she pushed and breathed and Arthur supporting her because she wanted to sit up a bit, Guinevere Pendragon gave birth to her baby. A lusty cry rang out a moment later, filling the room as Anne declared "It's a boy, a beautiful, healthy baby boy!"

A short time later, when the baby had been cleaned up, weighed, checked over and dressed in a babygro, a blanket wrapped around him, he was placed on his mother's chest. "Hello my darling", Guinevere cooed, holding the baby close, "I'm your Mummy and you're so beautiful, I love you so much." With Anne's help she released herself out of the hospital gown she'd worn for the birth and put the baby to her breast. After a second where the baby seemed to be working out what he needed to do, he latched on to Guinevere's nipple.

Arthur looked on, a sense of quiet joy bubbling inside him in spite of the tiredness he felt. 'I have a son', he told himself over and over again, trying to take it in. 'I have a son and he's perfect.'

When the baby released Guinevere's nipple Anne helped her to cover herself back up. "I'll leave you two alone to get to know your baby in peace", she said as she tidied up all the bits and pieces from the birth. "If you need anything just press the buzzer", she indicated a red button on a cable beside the bed. "In the meantime, congratulations to you both, he's a little smasher." She smiled towards the baby as she spoke, then she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Alone with the baby, Guinevere and Arthur looked at each other and smiled. "We have a baby boy" Guinevere said, her voice filled with wonder. "Can you believe it's really true that we have a baby boy and he's so perfect?"

Arthur looked at his wife and thought about her words. Then, with his heart overflowing, he looked straight into her amber eyes. "When I look at you, when I see how beautiful and kind and amazing you are, I can believe anything. I love you with all my heart Guinevere and I'll love you until the day I die, I swear it."

"Oh Arthur", Guinevere sighed, taken aback by her husband's uncharacteristic emotion. After several long moments of contented silence Guinevere sat up more, easing the baby off her chest and into her arms. "Would you like to hold him?" She held the baby towards her husband.

Arthur looked at the baby, who suddenly seemed so tiny and delicate in his mother's arms and shook his head, as much as every instinct in him wanted to take the baby from her. "You're all right, you just carry on and I'll…..watch."

"Oh come on, I'll move over a bit and you can sit up here on the bed and have a cuddle with your son." Guinevere edged over a bit as she spoke, making room.

Arthur shook his head again. "It's fine, honest. If I hold him I'm bound to make him cry or get it wrong. You know me love. I'll probably go and drop him or something." He tried to smile, but it didn't quite work. He really did want to hold the baby, but at the same time he really didn't. The baby was so small and helpless. It was terrifying.

"Arthur Pendragon, come and sit here and hold your son, I know you want to. I can see it in your eyes." Guinevere patted the space she'd made on the side of the bed. "Come on, you won't drop him, you'll be fine."

"How do you know I won't?" Arthur asked, torn between getting up on the bed and staying rooted to the spot.

Guinevere fixed her husband with a mock glare. He could see the laughter dancing in her eyes. "Because if you do I'll bloody well kill you, that's why, now come on." She patted the space she'd made again.

Seeing he was beaten, Arthur moved and sat on the bed. He felt the mattress give slightly under the extra weight as he sat on an angle facing Guinevere. He bent the knee nearest the bed up a little, so it went more towards Guinevere and made him feel steadier. When he indicated that he was comfortable, Guinevere reached towards him, the baby in her arms.

"I'll give him to you", she instructed gently. "All you need to do is take him from me and hold him. Support his head a bit because he can't do that for himself yet, but other than that just hold him against you. It's easy."

As she spoke Guinevere placed the baby into Arthur's arms. On instinct he took the baby from her. The baby had his head in the crook of his father's arm, very slightly inclined. As Arthur held the baby in his arm the rest of his hand went under the baby and supported his back and bottom. His other arm came around the front of the baby just for a bit of extra support.

"There you go, you're a natural." Guinevere's voice filled with emotion again.

Arthur Pendragon couldn't speak. He gazed down on his son and felt a wave of intense love. He loved Guinevere, he knew that, but this, what he felt in this moment, was totally different. He looked down on his son with his dark hair like Guinevere and his long legs, which clearly took after him, and felt completely responsible for another human being for what was definitely the first time in his life. He knew that if she had to Guinevere could manage without him, but the baby, their baby, needed both of them for everything and would for years to come.

As he looked down on his son Arthur thought about his own childhood. He wondered if this was how his parents felt when they held him for the first time. He thought about his mother, wondering if she'd had the same look of joy on her face as Guinevere did now when she held him in her arms. He wondered if his father felt like this, this sense of responsibility for the life of another human being, a sense of being needed, but also a sense that he would give anything, would do anything, for the little person in his arms, even if it meant giving up his own life. He thought of all the years after his mother's death, time which was spent with nannies while his father worked all the hours God sent and became a virtual stranger.

As Arthur Pendragon looked down on his son, resting peacefully in his arms, he vowed that things would be different for him. He vowed to make himself available to his son, to spend time with him, doing things with and for him. He silently vowed that his son would never be able to doubt his father's love or question his own worth because of the way his father treated him.

As Arthur Pendragon looked down on his son he felt complete.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Someone asked in a review why I have been writing long author's notes. I'm actually not sure, other than I thought I was helping people to see exactly where I'm coming from with this. However, if the writing is clear, which the person helpfully suggested it is, I see no need to reinvent the wheel, so I will try to stop gabbling on in my author's notes. I must thank the person for their constructive criticism though. It was helpful and I was not in the least offended.**

**I think this might be the last chapter I write where I flip back and forth over my timeline quite a lot. I think after this I will have brought you right up to date and I'll be able to get on with telling the rest of the story. I must just say that it occurred to me that though I had given the Pendragon's an address, sort of, I have never said exactly where they live. I do in this chapter. If you are clever, or you know a bit of history, you will know why I picked the place I picked and didn't go for calling it Camelot.**

**I should warn you that this chapter contains details of Gwydre's death, but this time from Arthur's perspective. It is a bit more graphic than Guinevere's version.**

Arthur remembered the day Gwydre was born like it was yesterday. As he sat at his desk he could still remember the drive to the hospital, one eye on the road, one eye on Guinevere. He could remember how Guinevere chided him gently, telling him that she wasn't about to have the baby any second, so if he could stop looking at her and focus on the road it would be helpful.

Arthur remembered Anne's reassuring presence during Guinevere's labour, the way she supported Guinevere, but him as well, by getting on with her job calmly and offering assurance and certainty as the hours rolled by. He also remembered Anne telling him off later, when she came back to the room to check on Guinevere and found him sitting on her bed, holding his son in his arms. She didn't make him put Gwydre down, but she did tell him that visitors were not allowed to sit on the beds because 'it's against hospital policy.' Anne had rolled her eyes when she said it, telling Arthur and Gwen, without the need for words, what she thought of 'hospital policy', but she asked him to get down anyway, finding him a chair to sit on. Then she made up for it by using Arthur's mobile phone to take a photograph of the new family. Arthur had given the baby back to his mother before he got down off the bed. At first Guinevere complained that she looked a mess, in no state to be in a photograph, but then, with Gwydre in her arms, that same look of awe came over her, just as it had done when she held him the first time. Arthur could see her now, in his mind. She looked a little dishevelled and very tired, but to him she had never looked more beautiful. As for him, he'd been shattered, but as Anne took his phone from him and set up the photograph, though he couldn't quite shake off his weariness, it couldn't break the joy in his heart. He knew his happiness must be written all over his face, but he felt no shame in it. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

Now, just months later, Arthur felt a familiar weight in his chest as he remembered Gwydre's birth and the joy it brought. The contrast from that day to this hit again, as it had over and over again as the days and months passed. Arthur wondered for the millionth time what had happened, where it had all gone so terribly wrong. The ache in his chest, which seemed a constant presence now, as if he was carrying a brick around just under his breastbone, multiplied tenfold when he remembered the day everything changed.

The economy in the area had been struggling in the months before Gwydre was born. In comparison to some areas, where unemployment was high and jobs scarce, the Albion Estate, on the outskirts of Winchester, was well off, but there was no disguising the fact that money was becoming tighter for a lot of people. On his way in to work, or when he was travelling across the town to show prospective buyers various properties, Arthur became aware that businesses were closing, even a few that had been going since long before his time.

Arthur remembered feeling relieved that though he and Guinevere enjoyed a comfortable life and had enough money to do all the things they wanted, he'd had the sense to put some money by each month since their marriage. He shuddered to think what life must be like for people whose businesses failed, taking their livelihood away, leaving them with nothing to fall back on.

Arthur was also grateful that his wife was prepared to go out to work herself. He hadn't really liked it when she told him she'd got a job, just a short time before they married, seeing no real need for her to work and, if he was honest with himself, wanting to look after her. He knew she was independent though, and, when it came down to it, she did love her work, so he'd kept his mouth shut. Then the economic situation changed. Slowly but surely people began to think twice about buying new homes. Pendragon Homes was still busy enough, but people weren't rushing to buy homes in the way they had been just a few years previously. Though Guinevere was on maternity leave when things began to change, she made it quite clear to Arthur that she would be going back to work at some point, when the baby was old enough to go into day care. Arthur was well aware that they could manage, more than manage, on his earnings, but it was good to know that Guinevere was still prepared to work, especially if things didn't change in a year or so. He pushed away a voice in his head that didn't like the idea of a child of his being brought up by strangers, as he had virtually been, telling himself not to be silly. He told himself that Guinevere had a job where she could change her hours to fit in with the baby. She'd already spoken to her boss about it. He reminded himself that he could change his hours too, if he needed to, so the baby wouldn't spend all the time in day care at all.

With business just a bit slower than it had been, Arthur had decided to have a lie-in that morning, three months after Gwydre was born. Before the baby was born Arthur would usually have been up and on his way to work by 8am and Guinevere would have been up and gone long before that, but he didn't have anything to do until later in the day and Guinevere was still on maternity leave, so he decided to take the rare opportunity to have a sneaky lie-in with his wife and spend some time with his son before going to work.

The sun rise woke Arthur that morning. The thin bedroom curtains let in the light, creating a soft glow in the room. Arthur stirred from his sleep and tried to ignore the light at first, lying on his back and slinging an arm over his eyes, but it didn't take too long before he decided he was awake and further attempts to sleep were futile, so he settled for lying there, enjoying the peace and quiet.

Arthur looked across at Guinevere, still sleeping peacefully next to him. She had her back to him, her rich dark hair lay in a mass of curls on her pillow and down her back, it's scent, something clean and flowery he couldn't identify but always thought of as her smell, caressed him, drawing him to her. He turned on his side again and edged closer, inhaling her as he went, slipping an arm around her carefully, slowly, trying not to wake her, at least that's what he told himself. He couldn't resist an urge to pull her against him and breathe her in, his nose dipping into her curls, while beneath the quilt covering them, keeping out the chill of the early morning, he began to run his toes down the back of her calves, something he considered one of the perks of her being so much shorter than him. He could feel the silkiness of her legs contrasting with the hair, now all standing to attention, on his and he leaned over her slightly more, though not enough to put his weight on to her, and breathed softly into her ear. He smiled to himself when he felt a shiver go through her, even in her sleep. He breathed again, a little longer, and had to suppress a moan when she stretched and sighed, her whole body quivering against his, waking him up as nothing else could. Then, before he could move, Guinevere rolled and opened her eyes.

"Did you want something Arthur?" She purred huskily, somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, but underneath Arthur could see the teasing sparkle in her gaze. His body responded to her tone and he knew she felt it when her eyes widened, just ever so slightly.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" He tried to sound innocent, as if he really hadn't meant to disturb her at all. "The sun woke me up. We really should do something about these curtains you know; they let every bit of light into the room." His hands began to wander as he spoke, brushing up and down Guinevere's back and sides slowly, her nightshirt sliding up, exposing an inch of her caramel skin above her underwear.

"Oh well," Guinevere sighed nonchalantly, easing herself nearer to him, her hands beginning a journey of their own, "now we're both awake and it's very early, too early to get up really", she paused for a second, listening, "and the baby seems to be asleep, so maybe we could just lie here and have some time to ourselves."

"That's a nice idea Mrs Pendragon, but don't you think we might get bored just lying here, or have you got any thoughts on anything we might do to fill some of the time?" His fingers went to that small bit of skin below her nightshirt, touching, stroking, while his eyes didn't stray from her face.

"I was rather hoping you might have some ideas Mr Pendragon", she toyed idly with one of his nipples, teasing it as she spoke, until it began to rise to a tip, when she flattened it and started again. "Or do I have to think of everything around here?"

In a flash Arthur moved, his body rising over hers as he held his weight off her with his arms. "Oh I'm sure I can think of something we could do…..how about this….?"

Arthur kissed her, claiming her mouth with his own. He slid his tongue into her mouth, tasting her, to which she responded by echoing his actions, her tongue brushing his, while her lips, full and sweet, danced with his. All the time her hands were on him, her elegant, slim fingers caressing the muscles of his arms, his shoulders, his back, her nails lightly scratching, drawing a moan from the back of his throat.

Arthur knew his arms wouldn't support his weight much longer, not while Guinevere was doing such wonderful things to him with her magical hands and glorious lips. Allowing his weight on to her for just a second, he held her and flipped them over, bringing her down on top of him. Instead of lying down though, he rolled into a seated position, Guinevere sitting in his arms, their eyes locked together. Asking with his eyes and getting her permission in the same way, he began to lift her nightshirt, gradually exposing her in the early morning light. Absently, he threw the nightshirt aside. Somewhere in his mind he registered it landing on the floor.

Arthur knew Guinevere was still a bit self-conscious of the way her body had changed since Gwydre's birth, the bit of extra weight she carried, the silvery lines of the stretch marks, slowly fading now, across her stomach, her breasts, a little less firm than they had been. He knew she still enjoyed their lovemaking, at least her body told him she did, but it was in these moments before, when she knew he would see her, that she struggled to stop herself hiding away. He watched her as she fought a sudden, but now familiar, battle with herself, the urge she felt to cover herself from his gaze and the desire to touch him and share herself with him without reservation, as she had before.

Seeing her hesitation, watching the conflict in her eyes, the way her arms left him and began to cross over her body, Arthur sighed. He understood why she felt so uncertain, but he couldn't understand why she didn't realise that to him she was still as beautiful as ever.

Knowing he wouldn't be able to put how he felt into words, he decided he would have to show her. Covering her hands, now crossed over herself, with his, he looked into her eyes. "I want to see you Guinevere. Please love, please let me see you."

Guinevere hesitated for a moment. Arthur could see the doubt and uncertainty on her face. He felt it in the way she held herself, tense and anxious. Then he watched as she gave in, slowly lowering her arms to her sides, revealing herself to him.

As the sun crept higher in the sky, Arthur and Guinevere made love. Then, when it was over, they slept, wrapped in each other's arms.

About an hour later a car door slammed and an engine roared somewhere, waking them both with a start. Arthur remembered Guinevere looking at the clock on her bedside table and starting to get out of bed.

"Where are you off to?" Arthur asked, watching her back as she sat on the side of the bed.

"I need to check on Gwydre", she replied, looking over her shoulder at him. "It's a bit late, he'll be getting hungry soon."

Arthur had jumped out of bed immediately, seeing an opportunity to spend a bit longer with the baby, but knowing he should be thinking about getting up soon anyway. "I'll go, leave him to me." He grabbed his boxer shorts off the floor, where he'd thrown them earlier, just moments after he'd discarded her nightshirt in the same way. As he put the boxer shorts back on he felt her eyes on him, taking him in. In response he gave her a cheeky grin and threw her nightshirt towards her playfully.

Arthur went into Gwydre's room, still grinning to himself. "Come on sleepyhead, time for some breakfast, don't you think?" He said brightly as he went towards the cot, thinking that the baby must still be asleep.

Arthur pulled the covers off the baby carefully, so as not to startle him. "Come on Gwyd', time to….."

The words got stuck in the back of Arthur's throat. All the breath seemed to fall out of his lungs. The baby was pale. His skin had an ashen tint which made it look like wax. The edges of his lips were stained with a hint of blue.

Arthur's heart began to pound. He could feel it behind his eyes and in the back of his throat. He wanted to call Guinevere, but he couldn't make his voice work. He told himself he was being stupid, maybe the baby had just got a bit cold in the night, he probably just needed to be picked up and held. The baby didn't react as his father took him into his arms and held him to his chest. Instinctively, Arthur started to rock the baby, just slightly, as his mind tried to work out why the baby was so very cold. It was like holding a marble statue, not a little human being.

The truth dawned when Arthur realised he couldn't hear the baby's breathing, or feel it against him. Terror gripped him, he fought an urge to drop the baby and clung to him instead, shaking violently, while all the time he held on to the baby and rocked him in his arms, as if on auto-pilot. Somewhere in the distance he heard someone cry out as if they were in agony. Then he heard footsteps, muffled, but heavy, like someone was running across carpet. He heard the footsteps getting closer.

Arthur's vision blurred, he couldn't work out why his face was suddenly wet, but he didn't get chance to think about it. The baby was being pulled out of his arms. He wanted to yell and hold on to him, but someone was pushing him out of the way. Somewhere in his mind he registered Guinevere. He stared at her as if he'd never seen her before, horror-struck, unable to move or speak.

"Arthur, get an ambulance!" He heard her shout, her voice sounding miles away, though she was standing so close to him. He couldn't move, instead he stared, horrified, as Guinevere went down on her knees, taking the baby with her and putting him down on the floor. _"My God Arthur, what are you trying to do, get me to give birth on the nursery floor!"_ The words she'd spoken when he startled her on the day Gwydre was born slammed through his mind out of nowhere. He felt the nausea starting to rise in the pit of his stomach as Guinevere tilted Gwydre's head a little and sealed her lips over the baby's mouth and nose. He stared, fascinated, as she breathed into the baby and his chest rose, then she watched as it fell again. Arthur watched her repeat the action, breathing in to the baby, waiting for his chest to fall and breathing for him again. Then he saw her take two fingers, placing them in the middle of Gwydre's chest and pressing down about a third of the way.

"For God's sake Arthur, GET AN AMBULANCE, DO IT NOW!" He heard Guinevere yell, almost shriek, at him. The sound of her voice distracted him from the horror in front of his eyes and he ran from the room. He could hear himself sobbing, felt the shakes all over his body and he felt violently sick, but he did ask she asked, willing his fingers to stop trembling as he went to the phone in the hallway and pushed down three times on the 9 on the keypad.

"999 emergency, which service do you require?" The operator asked automatically, almost immediately.

"I n-need…I need an ambulance." Arthur fought to control his voice as the panic rose inside him. "I need an ambulance, my baby….."

"Can you tell me what the problem is sir?" The operator sounded so calm, so collected. Arthur wanted to scream. "There is something wrong with your baby?"

Arthur nodded at the phone without thinking. "He…I don't…I don't think he's breathing and he's cold and I can't….My wife….she's trying to make him breathe, but I don't know….I don't…..please, we need an ambulance right now."

"Your wife is administering CPR, is that right sir?" The operator was speaking again, calm and efficient.

"Yes….She's….Yes", Arthur confirmed, confused. He couldn't think what difference that made.

"Good, that's excellent. We'll get an ambulance to you straight away sir. Now, can you tell me your address?"

Arthur told the operator the address and then hung up. He knew he should really go back to the nursery, to find out what was going on and to be with Guinevere, but he just couldn't make himself do it. Instead, he stood in the hallway, his hand still on the phone, fighting the urge to be sick.

It didn't take long for the ambulance to arrive, blue lights flashing and siren wailing. Arthur opened the front door as soon as he heard the sound. The paramedics dashed in and he pointed them in the direction of the nursery, but didn't follow. He couldn't do it, just couldn't face going back into that room.

What seemed like hours later, the paramedics emerged from the nursery. For a moment Arthur thought they were going to say everything was all right, it was all a false alarm, a panic over nothing. Then he saw the bundle one of them was carrying. It seemed like nothing but a blanket, a deep red blanket, all folded around itself. The paramedic met Arthur's eyes briefly, saying nothing. The other paramedic approached Arthur, putting his hand on his arm kindly, telling him, in a soft, gentle voice, that they were going to take the baby to the hospital, but they had some time to wait 'while you and your wife slip into some clothes.' Arthur went to their bedroom. He didn't glance into the nursery just across the hallway as was his usual habit. He found Guinevere in their room, getting dressed. She met his gaze briefly and the blank expression in her eyes told Arthur everything he needed to know. The world had come to an end.

Hours later, when it was dark and a chill hung in the evening air, Arthur and Guinevere arrived home in a taxi. They went straight to bed, still fully clothed. They didn't bother to open up the bed. They lay on top of the covers and silently waited for the morning to come in a world where Gwydre was dead.

The days that followed were an exhausting blur. Arrangements had to be made. People needed to be told. People came round endlessly once they'd heard the news, offering sympathy and compassion. Arthur restrained himself from telling people where to go, knowing they were trying to be kind, but hating the intrusion anyway. If people didn't turn up they phoned. Arthur couldn't figure out what was worse, seeing the sympathy in people's eyes, or hearing it in their voices. Either way it was annoying and made him want to punch someone.

The police turned up as well. They were very kind, very understanding, but there was no avoiding the questions they had to ask. When they left, having asked question after question about Gwydre and the day he died, Arthur went to bed, even though it was still the middle of the day. He knew he should be supporting Guinevere, should be helping her, but he couldn't shift the feeling that she seemed to be managing, handling it all. Arthur couldn't recall seeing her cry, not once. The blank expression in her eyes, which had told him so much on the day Gwydre died, now shut him out. She barely said a word to him, but if she did her words were clipped, polite, like she was talking to a stranger, not her husband. Arthur didn't know how to bridge the gulf growing between them. He knew it was there and it terrified him, but he couldn't face trying and being rejected.

The funeral was awful. The mourners wore black and it rained incessantly, as if the heavens themselves were weeping. Arthur remembered feeling surprised when his father closed Pendragon Homes for the day. He hadn't come to the flat before the service. He met Arthur and Gwen at the cemetery and then he stood at the back during the service, looking years older than his age.

Tom had managed to come to the funeral. Leon and Gwaine, Arthur's oldest friends, had picked him up and brought him. Tom stood by Guinevere's side during the service, an arm around her waist. As the coffin was lowered into the ground Guinevere leaned her head on her father's shoulder, and Arthur, standing on the other side of his wife, felt completely alone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Many thanks to you all for your great comments on chapter five. It was tough to write, because it was so vivid, but at the same time it seemed to write itself. The research on the chapter was somewhat interesting. Did you know you can actually find out on the internet what a dead body might look like! I didn't, but I do now! Seriously, if anyone had walked in and seen me searching on google they would have wondered what on earth I was doing!**

**By the way, I sort of lied when I said the last chapter was probably the last to contain flashback bits. This one does too, a bit.**

Gwen boiled her Dad's kettle, putting a teabag in a cup for him and some coffee in a mug for herself. She really wasn't hungry, despite leaving home without eating anything that morning, but she put some bread under the grill all the same, just to keep the peace. She knew her Dad didn't mean to nag, he just cared. In the long run it was easier to give in than to argue with him. Arguing took up energy she never seemed to have anymore.

"Have you heard from Elyan this week?" Guinevere asked as she kept her eye on the bread under the grill.

Tom blinked at the change of direction the conversation had taken, but he didn't comment. Guinevere did that a lot lately. Sometimes she gave the impression she was ready to talk about Gwydre, Arthur and the whole mess, but then she clammed up and changed the subject so quickly Tom wondered how she didn't give herself whiplash. Things would trickle out eventually, in bits and pieces, but Tom was convinced Guinevere was holding a lot inside.

Tom knew better than anyone how she'd done that all her life, pushed her own feelings away in order to help others or spare them pain. He remembered vividly the day Maisie died, when Gwen was ten and Elyan was just eight. Instead of seeking comfort from him, as most young children would when they'd just lost a parent, Guinevere comforted him.

Tom had to break the news of their mother's death to both of his children. Elyan cried and clung to his father, devastated by the loss of the mother he'd adored. Guinevere hugged her father as well, but then she got up and made him a cup of tea. She kept Elyan occupied with games and toys for the remainder of that day. Tom recalled one game where Elyan, momentarily forgetting the situation, as children do, got a bit boisterous. He didn't say anything to the boy, knowing he wasn't misbehaving, he just didn't understand the magnitude of what had happened. It was Guinevere who hushed Elyan, reminding him gently that they needed to be good 'because Mummy has died and Daddy is very sad.' The simple innocent statement broke Tom's heart, even years later, but it was nothing compared to the children's bedtime, when Guinevere stepped into the role of mother for Elyan and helped him get ready for bed before tucking him in for the night.

In retrospect Tom realised that in caring for him and Elyan, Guinevere had buried her feelings of loss over her mother. He knew that was exactly what she was doing now over Gwydre. The problem was that in pushing down all her feelings now, Guinevere had all but switched herself off. Now she was going through the motions, getting up in the morning, going to work, going to bed, coming over to see him, partly because she was concerned for him, but mostly because she couldn't bear sitting alone in that flat all the time, not that she'd ever admitted such a thing.

The only time Guinevere had asked for Tom's help after Gwydre died was when it came to breaking the news to Elyan. It was a few days after Gwydre's death, when Arthur and Gwen were waiting for the coroner to release Gwydre's body for the funeral. The police had been round to the flat a couple of days earlier. Gwen and Arthur had to go over what happened the day Gwydre died, just so the authorities could be absolutely sure nothing sinister had happened. Later, when Gwen spoke to Tom, she told him the police had been very kind, but going over the events again had been exhausting. Arthur had dealt with it by taking himself off to bed, but Gwen was starting to worry about not having broken the news to Elyan. She went so far as to admit that she couldn't face going over what had happened again and Arthur was in no fit state to do it and it wasn't his place anyway, so she asked her father if he would mind making the call.

Tom had to admit to himself he was almost pleased to be asked for help, even for such a sad task. Guinevere rarely asked anyone's help with anything, preferring to give it rather than receive. He also truly believed that in asking for help with this, Guinevere might start to realise that she didn't need to deal with everything alone and shut her feelings away, so he gladly made the call, knowing how difficult it would be. He wasn't wrong. Elyan, even from thousands of miles away, reacted in much the same way as he did when Tom broke the news of his mother's death to him years before. He'd adored Gwydre from the moment Gwen told him she was pregnant and was devastated by the news. Tom spent a long while on the phone to him, trying to console him, but he wasn't surprised when Elyan said he needed to talk to Gwen. Much to Tom's surprise Elyan phoned him back later. Elyan said he'd spoken to Gwen and had been shocked by the sound of her voice. He said that while he'd cried down the phone, Gwen had sounded detached and distant, almost distracted. Tom tried to reassure Elyan, explaining that Gwen was probably still in shock, but he was also worried. Gwen had taken a step in asking for some help, but then she'd reverted to type and shut the world out again.

Tom began to worry about what would happen when Gwen reached a point where she couldn't push her feelings away anymore. He feared where it could lead. Part of Tom knew he should advise Gwen to talk to someone, maybe a doctor or something, but he knew she wouldn't thank him for the suggestion. As far as Guinevere was concerned she was coping, and she'd always been fiercely independent.

Tom remembered how proud he was when Guinevere took a job as a carer just a few months before she married Arthur. He knew his daughter well enough to know the work would suit her down to the ground, even though she was very young. Gwen had been looking after other people all her life in her own way, the idea of her doing it for a living made sense. Tom wondered when she took the job if she would let it go once she was married. Arthur was a director in his father's company and earned more than enough for him and Guinevere to live comfortably. They weren't wealthy by any means, but they were much better off than a lot of young couples their age, and being the boss's son did give Arthur certain perks, so Tom wondered if Guinevere would carry on working after she was married, working anti-social hours for what really amounted to a pittance. In retrospect Tom realised he shouldn't have been remotely surprised when Guinevere made it quite clear she wasn't giving up her job after the wedding. She wasn't working for money she said, she just loved the job and enjoyed helping people. She argued that she was better off than a lot of the girls she worked with, people who had no choice but to do crazy hours because they needed the job. She also knew, she said, of plenty of people who did the job purely for the money, without any real regard for the people they looked after. She was adamant that she could pick and choose the hours she worked to degree, because she didn't really need the job financially.

"Dad?" Guinevere cut across her father's recollections. She brought his tea and her coffee to the table and took her bread, now toasted golden brown, from under the grill. She went across the kitchen to the fridge and found the butter, before smearing some on the toast and putting it on a tea plate. Then she sat back down opposite Tom.

"What?" Tom eyebrows arched quizzically.

Guinevere rolled her eyes."I asked if you'd heard from Elyan this week."

Tom smiled sheepishly, knowing she'd caught him deep in thought. "Sorry sweetheart, I was miles away." He blinked and pulled himself back to the present, taking a sip of his tea before setting it back down on the table. "Yes, he phoned the other night."

Guinevere nodded and picked up her coffee mug. She ignored the toast, the sight of the butter melting and soaking into the bread making her stomach roll slightly. "Good, is he all right, I haven't heard from him for a few days?"

Tom nodded. "He said to say sorry he hasn't had time to e-mail. He's been on a course for work, but he said he will be in touch as soon as he gets a minute." Tom smiled brightly. "It looks like Elyan might be in the running for a promotion. Apparently the head of his department is leaving and Elyan applied for the job. He's not sure he'll get it, being young and everything, but he decided to go in for the course anyway, to brush up on his skills. He said it will look good in the interview as well, give him something to talk about he said, and look like he's made a bit of an effort."

"That's brilliant news Dad." Guinevere felt genuinely pleased for her little brother. Elyan had always seemed a bit aimless when he was young. He'd also been a rebel. It wasn't as if he was bad, she recalled. He'd never been in any serious trouble, apart from one time when he was about twelve, when he was talked into a bit of petty shoplifting from the local newsagents during their long summer holidays, which were always spent at home because there wasn't enough money to go away on holiday. He'd fallen in with a bunch of boys, a rough lot, and one of them had dared him to see if he could take some sweets without being caught. Elyan, never one to back down from a dare, tried it and, predictably, got caught. The other boys had run off, of course, but Elyan knew he'd been caught, so he stayed put and the police were called.

Guinevere could still remember her father's face when the police turned up on the doorstep. At the time she hadn't thought much about it, but as she got older she realised that at first Tom had thought something had happened to Elyan, maybe he'd had an accident or something. When he found out what Elyan had done he'd looked almost relieved for a moment.

They'd had to go to the police station to collect Elyan. Guinevere could still remember how scared Elyan looked when they saw him. It was obvious that he'd had a fright, not only in being caught, but also in being taken to the police station, which he hadn't expected. He'd had a telling off from a policeman and he'd expected his father to do the same, or worse. He seemed a bit shocked when Tom said they were going home, as if he was expecting something else to happen. However, on the way home Tom took his children into the newsagents where Elyan had stolen the sweets. He attracted the attention of the shopkeeper, who looked guarded and uncomfortable as soon as he saw Elyan. Tom made Elyan stand in the shop and apologise to the shopkeeper for stealing, then he asked the shopkeeper if he had any use for a boy who could do odd jobs around the shop on a Saturday morning, for free. The shopkeeper had been wary at first, reluctant to allow a thief to work on his premises, but Tom kept saying that Elyan, who was standing there looking like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him, would work for nothing, until what he owed for the things he had taken, a few chocolate bars, lollipops and chewy sweets, had been paid for. In the end the shopkeeper gave in and Elyan found himself occupied on a Saturday morning for the remainder of the holidays. He also learned a lesson he never forgot. He remained a rebel, sometimes forgetting to do his homework, staying out a bit later than he knew he should as he got older, but he never stole again.

Gwen remembered Elyan confiding in an e-mail he sent just after he moved to Canada, when she was still getting used to married life with Arthur. Elyan said the thing he remembered most clearly from that time was not the police turning up at the shop, or being taken to the police station. It wasn't even having to give up his Saturday mornings for a while either. It was standing in that shop in front of the shopkeeper and saying sorry for what he'd done. He said it had been embarrassing, especially because the place was far from empty at the time, but it had also made him ashamed of his behaviour. He admitted that in retrospect Tom had come up with the perfect punishment for him, far more effective than being shouted at or clipped around the ear, which is what his twelve year old self had expected. Tom had shown his disapproval of what Elyan had done and then he made him fix it, even if doing so was humiliating. It had also shown him that you couldn't go around taking things you wanted, they had to be worked for, which, he admitted, was probably the whole point for their father.

"It seems as if Elyan has found a girlfriend as well." Tom grinned.

"Oh?" Guinevere's brows arched. "He hasn't said anything to me about a girlfriend."

Tom cringed, wondering if he'd put his foot in it. He wondered if Elyan had kept that bit of information to himself deliberately, knowing Gwen and Arthur were separated. "He probably meant to, you know what he's like", he said, trying to save himself. "Maybe he thought he had told you." He moved uncomfortably in his seat.

Guinevere realised her father looked uncomfortable. It occurred to her that maybe Elyan was trying to be kind. It wasn't fair of her to make an issue out of it. Still, she couldn't help feeling annoyed that Elyan had deliberately kept something from her. She knew it was none of her business really, but Elyan had always told her things, asked her opinion. It was normal for him to do that. Elyan keeping secrets wasn't normal, it wasn't treating her normally, which is what she wanted. She just wanted things to be normal.

"I'm sorry love", Tom said, after a few moments of silence.

Guinevere sighed and reached over the table for Tom's hand. She put her slim hand with its long fingers and neatly files nails into her father's much larger, stronger hand, etched with lines, the result of years of work. She felt him grip, as if doing so was automatic to him. It reminded her of being a little girl again, when the only thing she needed to feel safe and secure was her Dad to hold her hand in his.

"So, what have you been up to?" Tom asked, as Guinevere released his hand and sat back in her seat. "Are you working this week, or…."

Gwen relaxed with the change in conversation. She could talk about work. "Yes, I'm back tomorrow, I just have today off, then I'm back for three days, then I'm doing the evenings over the weekend and Monday."

Tom frowned and shook his head. "Are they working you too hard, one day off a week doesn't sound like much to me, especially in your job, with the driving and everything?"

Guinevere shrugged dismissively. "It's really not so bad, I know people doing longer hours than that. The agency is short-staffed too. One of the girls has hurt her back and can't work; another has flu, so calls have to be covered. It's all hands on deck at the moment Dad, that's all."

"Well just don't go overdoing it, that's all."

Tom's voice was stern, but Gwen could see the twinkle in his eyes. "No Dad." She grinned.

The two sat in companionable silence for a while, sipping their drinks. Tom noticed that Gwen hadn't touched the toast on her plate, but he didn't push. Part of him knew he should, but he didn't want to give her any reason to get up and go, not without finding out what she was really doing there. He thought of asking, but decided not to. Gwen would tell him when she was ready.

"So," Guinevere said after a while, "my Decree Nisi came in the post this morning." She stared down into her coffee mug as she spoke, resolutely refusing to look at Tom's face.

There we are, thought Tom. That was it. His heart ached for her, and, strange as he knew it probably was, for Arthur too. "So, that's it then?" He asked. His heart sank as he watched her as she stared at her mug as if it had secrets to tell her as she talked about the end of her marriage like someone else might talk about the weather.

Guinevere shook her head. "Not quite. Arthur has to wait for six weeks before he can apply for the Decree Absolute. The courts should permit it then because we've been able to agree about what to do about the flat and stuff. Having no children makes it easier too, because there is no issue about custody, anything like that."

Tom sighed heavily. "I still can't believe it you know, you and Arthur splitting up like that."

Guinevere glanced up briefly from her coffee mug. "Oh well, these things happen don't they? A lot of couples marry and then find out they aren't suited."

Tom shook his head. "Not you and Arthur. You are suited."

Guinevere shook her head, lifting her coffee mug to her mouth for the last few drops. "Arthur obviously doesn't think so." She looked up at her father again. "Maybe you were right about him all along Dad, maybe he just didn't love me like you do."

"Arthur does love you, I know he does."

Guinevere looked at her father. He looked so certain, so sure. "Did he tell you that?" Something deep down inside her lifted a little.

Tom sighed wearily. "No love, I haven't seen him since you split up, but I know Arthur almost as well as I know you and I know he loves you."

Guinevere sighed. "I don't think so Dad, not anymore." Whatever it was inside that lifted suddenly, fell down to earth again with a bump.

"Look," Tom said, sitting up straighter in his seat, wanting her to know he was serious. "You've both been under a lot of strain, what with Gwydre and everything…"

"Dad", Guinevere interrupted. "Don't." Her voice was like ice.

Tom faced his daughter. He saw the way she stiffened when Gwydre was mentioned. He couldn't bear to hurt her, especially knowing what she'd already been through, what she _and_ Arthur had been through, but this was important. "I'm just saying that you've been under a terrible strain, the pair of you. It's hardly any wonder things have boiled over at times and been so tough, but that doesn't mean you can't find each other again, that's all."

Guinevere listened to her father's words. She wished he hadn't mentioned Gwydre. Just hearing his name was painful beyond words. Before the funeral she'd handled it. People had to be told what had happened and there had been things that needed to be done, arrangements to be made.

After the funeral it was different. All the people she and Arthur knew went back to their lives, back to normal, or so it seemed. Only she and Arthur seemed stuck. The loss of Gwydre had opened up a rift between them, a gulf, which neither of them had the energy, or maybe the will, to bridge.

Other people had been around before the funeral, offering support and sympathy, and there had also been things to do, so she'd barely noticed the silence between her and Arthur, the way they were suddenly reduced to making no more than polite conversation, just like a couple of strangers, not husband and wife.

It was after the funeral that the arguments started, over trivial things usually, a tube of toothpaste squeezed in the middle rather than at the end, the toilet seat being left up and the used toilet roll not replaced. An empty juice container put back in the fridge, a knife covered in butter being put into the jam. It was all trivial and meaningless, but all the time the loss of Gwydre was between them, an open wound neither of them knew how to deal with, because even the mention of Gwydre's name hurt.

It all came to a head one day when Arthur announced he was moving out for a while. He said he was going to stay with Gwaine and Leon for a bit, to clear his head. Gwen didn't argue with him. She didn't see any point and just didn't have the energy.

Within a couple of weeks, during which time Gwen occupied herself with work, Arthur phoned. In a voice that sounded tired, drained, Arthur told Guinevere that he'd applied for a divorce. He told her she could have the flat, he didn't need it. He also told her that he would support her financially for as long as she needed.

When Guinevere put the phone down from Arthur that day she told herself it was probably for the best. Then she put on her coat and went to work.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Many thanks for your reviews for the previous chapter. I was especially delighted by one which noted how detached Guinevere is. That was exactly what I was trying to get over, so I'm glad it's clear. It will be a big issue in a chapter or two. A VERY big issue.**

**I've been trying to get another chapter up this week, to push things forward a bit, but also because I will definitely be delayed for a few days. I have family coming from Ireland from today, so I know I will get nothing done to speak of until next weekend at the earliest, when they go back. Bear with me next week though, because the good stuff, or at least part of the main reason for the story, is definitely coming, a warning way in advance for it though. You will probably hate me for a little while and those of you who have told me in reviews that I have made you cry so far, you ain't seen nothin' yet, but it's all for a good cause!**

Guinevere didn't stay at her Dad's too long after she finished her coffee. She told him she needed to do some shopping. She told herself she wasn't telling lies, not really. She probably could do with getting some fruit, vegetables, the basic things, she told herself, even if food was the last thing she wanted lately. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten something and really enjoyed it. Nothing seemed to have any taste anymore, and cooking seemed to be such an effort, especially for one. On the odd times she did want something to eat, like the days when she was between calls at lunchtime, she tended to want things that were easy and quick. The microwave in the flat had never worked so hard, even if most of the results were bland and boring. At least half would end up in the bin anyway, because there was no time to sit and eat a meal when she was working, but even if she'd had time she had no appetite.

Before she left her Dad's Guinevere washed up their cups and the tea-plate from her toast, which had surreptitiously gone in the kitchen bin when her Dad popped to the loo. Tom walked back into the kitchen just as Guinevere was drying his cup, having dried the tea-plate and put it away first, so Tom wouldn't ask too many questions.

"Do you want another cup of tea before I go Dad?" She asked the question as Tom sat back down in his chair at the table.

Tom nodded, "Yes please sweetheart, but only if it's not too much trouble."

"Of course it's not too much trouble." Guinevere shook her head and rolled her eyes.

Tom watched Guinevere as she turned to boil the kettle again and put another teabag in the cup she'd just washed and dried.

The mood between them became awkward after Tom mentioned Gwydre and Arthur. Suddenly Gwen seemed to be keen to go. She had practically inhaled the last of her coffee and she'd begun to tidy up, gathering their cups and the things from the breakfast he knew perfectly well she hadn't eaten, before running some water in the sink to wash up. Normally he would have told her not to worry, he could manage the bit of washing up they'd produced if she was in a hurry, but today he let her do it, let her think she was doing something useful for him. He knew he was keeping her there a bit longer too, though he knew she probably wouldn't be saying much more now. She'd clammed up after he'd mentioned Gwydre and seemed to be lost in her own thoughts.

Tom wondered if anything he'd said had got through to her. He saw the reaction in her eyes when he told her Arthur still loved her. For a second it was as if some of the weight that she seemed to be carrying around with her since Gwydre's death lifted, just a little bit. Tom wished he could have assured her more, convinced her he was telling the truth, but he couldn't. She needed to hear it from Arthur, but there was no chance of that while the pair of them were avoiding each other, keeping their contact to the bare minimum to sort out matters for the divorce, and even then, restricting their conversations to five minutes here and there on the phone.

To his credit, Tom recalled, it was Arthur who'd broken the news to him that he'd applied for a divorce. The phone had rung one afternoon when he was alone in the house. He'd tried to get to the phone, but he just wasn't quite quick enough on his feet since his stroke, not without trying to rush and risking falling over. Typically, the phone rang off just as he reached it and he cursed under his breath, laughing softly at himself for doing such a thing when no one was there to hear him. However, after a few seconds the phone rang again and Tom picked it up. He'd expected to hear Guinevere's voice. She'd got into a habit of ringing straight back if he missed a call the first time, knowing he was probably either in the loo or on the way to the phone, so Tom thought it would be her. He was surprised when he answered the phone to hear Arthur's voice.

"Tom?" Arthur sounded exhausted, even to his father-in-law's ears.

"Arthur, is everything all right, you sound tired son?" Anxiety coursed through Tom, wondering why Arthur was phoning. It wasn't so much that he never did, but he certainly didn't phone Tom often. "Is it Gwen – what's she done?" Even as he asked the question Tom didn't quite know why. He was being silly he told himself, telling his heart, which had been pounding in his ears from the moment he heard Arthur's voice, to shut up.

"Guinevere's all right….I….I think." Arthur's voice sounded uncertain, shaky, almost as if he was on the brink of tears. Tom heard him swallow hard and reflexively did the same.

"Tom I…" Arthur swallowed again. Tom could visualise him doing it, gathering himself so he could speak properly. "Tom I'm sorry, but I've applied for a divorce." Tom heard the intake of breath when Arthur finished his statement, as if even he couldn't quite believe what he'd just said.

"You….You've done what?" Tom didn't shout. He asked the question calmly, sure he'd misheard.

"I'm sorry Tom, but I just can't live like this anymore. Since….since the baby…" Arthur stopped talking abruptly. Tom heard another heavy swallow.

Tom Leodegrance gripped the phone as a wave of emotion hit him. The memory of the tiny coffin they'd buried Gwydre in three months before went through his mind. In a flash he was back at the cemetery his arm around Guinevere's waist, the rain lashing down as the coffin was lowered into the tiny grave. He could feel Gwen's head on his shoulder, feel the shudder that went through her as the coffin reached the earth below and the local vicar recited the burial ceremony. All the time Arthur was sobbing silently, his tears falling and mingling with the rain.

"We can't talk to each other anymore Tom. We're being polite with each other, like strangers, except for when we forget and start screaming at each other over things that don't matter. We can't sit in the same room anymore without it turning into a yelling match, and I just can't…I moved out a fortnight ago, fully intending to go back, but now I've realised I just can't, not to that, so I've applied for a divorce."

"Arthur you've both just lost a child." Tom reasoned, clearing his throat in an attempt to keep his emotions in check. He could hear Arthur's despair, his frustration, down the phone line.

"I know, and I know you'll think what I'm doing is terrible and selfish and self-centred, and maybe it is, but I just can't sit back and watch her slip further and further away from me Tom, I just can't, so….."Arthur let the rest of his words hang in the air.

Tom listened to Arthur's outpouring and his heart ached. He hadn't seen Arthur and Guinevere together since the funeral. He had problems walking any distance and didn't drive anymore, so he couldn't just pop round to theirs any time he wanted. Before the baby died they would go to him, sometimes having tea on a Sunday evening, when he would sit in his favourite armchair in his living room, the baby in his arms, while he chatted away about nothing. After the baby died, particularly when Guinevere went back to work, she would call on him during the week, usually when she was between calls to people she looked after, or when she had a day off. When he asked after Arthur she always said he was fine.

It was at the funeral that Tom noticed the distance between Gwen and Arthur. At first Tom told himself he was imagining it, the way they barely exchanged a word and never touched. He convinced himself he was being stupid. They were both devastated in their own ways, Guinevere grieving in her own silent way, leaning on him in a way she hadn't in years. Arthur stood a foot or so apart, on Guinevere's other side, trying, and failing, to hold back his tears. Arthur bit his lower lip, it's colour draining away as he applied more and more pressure to it. Then he seemed to be biting the inside of one of his cheeks. Tom watched as the cheek tautened slightly before filling out a bit again when Arthur took a sharp intake of air as tears swamped his vision. A second later Arthur gave way to his grief, sobbing silently in the rain. Tom stood at the graveside and watched Arthur falling apart, wishing he could reach out and comfort him, but finding himself unable to move without disturbing Guinevere. Instead Tom watched, feeling that Arthur's soundless sobbing was just as heartbreaking as if he'd stood at the grave and wailed.

"Look Arthur," Tom said, pushing the memories away, "I'm not about to accuse you of being selfish or any of that. I'm just asking you not to do something hasty I know you'll regret. I know you're both going through hell at the moment, but in time…."

"Please don't tell me time heals Tom." Arthur's voice was sharp, filled with bitterness.

"I wasn't going to say any such thing", Tom replied kindly, overlooking Arthur's tone. "I was just going to say that time won't heal, but it will make it easier to live with, for you and for Guinevere. You just need to hang in there Arthur, together."

A huff of ironic laughter came down the line. "That's just it though Tom, we're not _together _anymore, not now. Guinevere won't talk to me unless it's to find fault. She won't tell me how she feels. She hasn't cried, not once. She organised the funeral, made all the arrangements without consulting me, and then she shut me out. Did you know she went back to work the week after the funeral?"

Suddenly Tom had to bite his tongue. In any other situation he would have given Arthur a piece of his mind, told him to grow up and stop whining, but the despair in the young man's voice stopped him. Arthur was at the end of his tether, quite clearly.

"Maybe work helps her", he tried desperately to find something to help Arthur find a way to understand Guinevere's behaviour. "Maybe it takes her mind off things. Maybe it fills some of the time."

"Maybe it gives her an excuse to be away from me," Arthur supplied, his frustration boiling over.

"I'm sure that's not why she's working Arthur", Tom said, biting his tongue again. "Look, Guinevere is trying to cope with this in the only way she knows how, which, for her, is keeping busy. She's never been one to sit around, you know that."

On the other end of the line Arthur sighed heavily. "I do know that, and if it was just that I wouldn't care, honestly I wouldn't. I know Guinevere copes with things by being busy, keeping herself occupied, but it's not just that. She's completely shut me out of her life Tom and I'm just too tired to fight with her anymore, especially because that's the only way we talk now, by fighting with each other. I can't live like that Tom, not with her."

Tom felt the sting of tears in the back of his eyes when he listened to the futility in Arthur's voice. "Does Guinevere know about the divorce, have you told her?"

"I told her yesterday. I told her she can have the flat and I've told her I'll support her financially for as long as she wants, but knowing her she won't let me do that for long. She's so independent."

Tom laughed softly in spite of the sadness in his heart. "I know all about that son, believe me."

"There is just one thing Tom." Arthur spoke hesitantly, as if he was suddenly uncertain of how what he said might be taken.

"What is it Arthur, you know you can say anything to me, ask me anything, don't you?"

"I know that Tom, it's just, in the circumstances…"

"What do you need Arthur?" Tom asked, rolling his eyes.

Arthur sighed again. "Will you look after her for me?" His voice wobbled for a moment and he took a breath before speaking again. "I know it's my place to look after her, but she won't let me anymore, she won't even let me try. I just can't stand the thought of her being alone Tom. I know she's independent and would swear blind she can manage, and in a lot of ways I know she can, but deep down I think she needs someone now, and since she won't let me near her anymore, I just…."

"I'll do everything I can Arthur, you know that, but…."

"Thanks Tom. I'll pop round and see you when I have time."

"Wait a minute Arthur, where are you…?"

Before Tom could finish his question the line went dead and Arthur was gone. Now, months later, he still hadn't come round, but whether he genuinely hadn't had time, or if he had convinced himself that after leaving it so long he wouldn't be welcome, Tom wasn't sure. He also wondered if Arthur was afraid of bumping into Guinevere if he turned up. Maybe it had become easier for him to just stay away.

"Right Dad, I'm off to do a bit of shopping and have a look around the market. Do you need me to get you anything?" Guinevere was walking towards the front door as she spoke, her father following behind her to see her out.

"No thanks love, I'm all right. You enjoy the rest of your day off."

"All right, I'll pop in before I start work at the weekend then, if you're sure you're all right." Guinevere stood up on her tip-toes to kiss her Dad goodbye.

"All right sweetheart, take care and try not to work too hard." Tom kissed his daughter back and embraced her briefly before she turned to go.

Tom Leodegrance stood on his front step to watch his daughter drive away. He waved her off feeling much the same as he did on her first day at school years before. He knew now, just as he knew then, she had to go out into the big wide world on her own one day, but he prayed she would be all right. He'd been assured when she was a child. She'd virtually skipped out of school, beaming and chattering about a new friend she had made, clutching a picture she'd painted of a butterfly, which she insisted was for her Mummy, who wasn't in the best of health, even then. Tom could still see the vivid colours, red, yellow, orange and an almost fluorescent green, she had used on one half of the piece of paper, whereas on the other half, though they were the same colours, they were more faint. A fold, obviously done by a more mature hand than his five year old daughter, ran down the centre of the paper, separating the two halves of the completed butterfly. It was clear how it had been done, by painting on one side of the paper before folding the page and pressing down on it, to create a perfectly symmetrical butterfly when the paper was opened out again. Now she was an adult and Tom desperately wished life was still as simple.

Guinevere drove back into town and headed towards the market that was held once a week. She used to love wandering around the market for an hour or so on her days off. She loved seeing the fresh produce, fruit, vegetables, speciality goods. She loved the stalls of hand-made items, knitted shawls and blankets, sweaters and the hand-made jewellery and could stand for ages just browsing. Now she just headed for the stalls which sold what she needed as fast as possible, hoping she didn't bump into someone she knew. After the difficulty of the talk with her father she didn't need another awkward encounter, not today.

She had almost reached the fruit and vegetables stall when she was stopped in her tracks.

"Princess, long time no see!"

Guinevere looked around for somewhere she could hide. She knew she'd been seen and she only knew one person who ever called her that, Gwaine, one of Arthur's closest friends.

It wasn't that she didn't like Gwaine. In fact, if she was really honest, the night she met Arthur, in a local pub when she'd been dragged out by some of her friends, because one of them was celebrating a birthday, it had been Gwaine she'd met first. He'd been utterly charming and just a bit naughty, flirting with her in a way that would have been annoying from anyone else, but it soon became clear that Gwaine, for all of his showing off and bravado, was completely harmless. He reminded Guinevere of a spaniel a friend once owned, he was a bundle of energy and instinctively knew everyone adored him because he was beautiful, inside and out, but underneath he was loyal and affectionate to his friends.

However, after going through the motions of flirting with her, making her laugh and even buying her a drink, Gwaine said, pointing to his right, that he'd come over to ask her to come and meet his friend who was dying to meet her and too shy to come over and say hello himself. "Personally I think he's a fool who should just get off his arse and get over here!" He shouted in the direction he had pointed and a blonde man, with the most beautiful blue eyes Guinevere had ever seen, blushed all the way to his hairline.

Eventually Arthur walked over and glared at Gwaine for embarrassing him, which Gwaine, naturally, shrugged off. Then he walked away and found another woman to chat up, a blonde with legs up to her armpits.

As if by magic Gwaine appeared through the crowd in the market, or rather, the crowd parted like the red sea for him. Gwen watched as he smiled at all the old women he passed and winked at the younger ones, each and every one of them eating out of his hand, because that was the sort of person Gwaine was. People, men as well as women, but especially women, were drawn to the tall, dark Irishman who had clearly kissed the blarney stone more than once, because he definitely had the gift of the gab.

"Hello gorgeous, it's good to see you!" Gwaine greeted Guinevere by sweeping her off her feet into an enormous bear-hug.

"Gwaine, honestly, put me down, people are looking!" She chided him, smacking his chest as she laughed at her exuberant friend, though she cringed inwardly when she realised they were gathering quite a crowd.

Gwaine released Guinevere and she dropped back down on to her feet. The crowd began to disperse at that, realising the show was obviously over.

"Hello Gwaine, it's good to see you too," she said, when she was sure their audience were gone. "How are you?"

"Apart from being knackered because Leon's a slave-driver, I'm all right thanks my sweet, you?"

Guinevere deliberately ignored the last part of Gwaine's comment. "Leon is not a slave-driver and you know it Gwaine," she told him off good-naturedly. "He just wants the restaurant to be a success, you know that."

Gwaine and Leon shared a flat in town. They'd bought it together because the property prices in the area where they wanted to live, not far from Gwen and Arthur's flat, were too high for them to afford on their own. Gwen remembered Arthur laughing several times when he came home from an evening with 'the boys', before the baby was born, when he'd witnessed people mistaking Leon and Gwaine for lovers, but she knew very well they were best friends. Close, but not _that_ close. Leon, a qualified chef, who was quite shy, almost retiring compared to Gwaine – although Gwaine would make anyone look retiring Gwen thought – decided one day to announce that he had always wanted to own and run a restaurant, a classy, upmarket restaurant and wine bar, so he and Gwaine went into a business partnership. They'd been pretty successful too, keeping going even as other businesses in the area closed when the economy crashed, but it hadn't been easy by a long way.

"How are things with the restaurant?" Guinevere asked, the two of them falling in to step and walking, so as not to get in the way in the narrow space of the market.

Gwaine smiled, "Doing all right actually. Leon reckons it's the posh nosh he serves up in the evenings for his _exclusive_", he used air-quotes dramatically, "clientele, but I think it's more to do with my idea to open up for a few hours in the day and serve basic stuff for the peasants."

Gwen smiled. "Which category do I fall in to then, exclusive or peasant?"

Gwaine looked like he was thinking about it for a second. He eyed Guinevere up and down and stroked his beard. Then he grinned and clicked his fingers. "Queen of the peasants, M'lady," and he bowed with mock solemnity.

Guinevere laughed. "You're mad you are. I don't think I'll be Queen of anything any time soon."

Gwaine shook his head, "I bet I can think of at least one person who would disagree with that."

"Oh?" Guinevere's brows arched.

Out of nowhere Gwaine became more serious. "You know very well who I mean Princess. Why won't you come round to ours and just talk to him?"

"Gwaine", Guinevere glared.

"Look," Gwaine ploughed on, in spite of Guinevere's annoyance. "All you need to do is come round and have a drink or something. Leon and I could come up with some excuse to leave you alone and you could sit down and work it out."

"I'm busy Gwaine. I work for a living, remember?" Guinevere's voice was edged with steel. "Besides, the Decree Nisi was granted, it came through today, so there's nothing to say, is there?"

"Well that explains why Arthur was like a bear with a sore arse this morning," Gwaine said, almost like he was talking to himself. Then he smiled, "It's just a piece of paper though, it could be ripped up, if you would just talk to Arthur."

"I said no Gwaine; it's too late."

Before Gwaine could present another argument Guinevere turned on her heel and was gone. Her tiny stature meant that he lost sight of her in the in the crowd quickly, leaving Gwaine wondering what on earth had just happened and what on earth could be done to put it right.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Well, here I am, back again after a few hectic days with visitors, which included two very active children, my nephew and niece, aged 5 and nearly 4, both of whom were excited by the chance to go out with other relatives for their first experience of trick or treating at Halloween. It was great to see them, but having them around wasn't exactly conducive to getting any writing done. While they were over I caught a bug as well, which has held me up. Anyway, I'm back now, so I'll get on with it. Thanks, as ever, for your thoughts on the previous chapter. I hope you enjoy this one after waiting for it for a while. Thanks for your patience.**

**Just be warned, there is one use of very strong language towards the end of this chapter, but Arthur does have good reason.**

Arthur sat at the bar and stared into his drink, a glass of lager he'd been nursing for at least half an hour, while in front of him was a dish of pasta, some kind of tagliatelle concoction, which Leon had come out of the kitchen with and instructed him to try and let him know what he thought. Every now and then Arthur dipped a fork into his meal, rotating it carefully to pick up a few strands of the pasta, before putting it into his mouth. It was, he decided, not bad.

When he finished work Arthur had every intention of going back to Leon and Gwaine's flat, grabbing something quick to eat and curling up in the sleeping bag he'd been using on their living room floor for the past few months. He wanted to be asleep before Leon and Gwaine finished at the restaurant for the night. As grateful as he was that his friends had put themselves out to take him in when he phoned Leon and asked if they would mind if he stayed for a while, until he could sort something more permanent out, there were days when Arthur just wanted to be on his own. This had been one of those days.

Unfortunately he had no such escape. Leon had agreed to let him use a table in the restaurant for a meeting when the lunchtime rush was over, a meeting Arthur had been instructed to undertake on his father's behalf, to sort out a dispute over some land Uther had cheated an old business rival out of years before, when he was considering expanding Pendragon Homes into property development and construction, as well as selling properties. Uther's plans had fallen through, or Uther had lost interest, Arthur wasn't quite sure which. Either way, he'd ended up stuck with a piece of land he had no use for. Then Uther heard on the grapevine that Rodor, his old rival and sparring partner, was very ill and not expected to last much longer, so he decided to try one last time to get rid of the useless land, playing on the fact that Rodor was too sick to fight back. Before the deal was done though, Rodor died, and his business affairs were taken over by his daughter, Mithian. Arthur had met her a couple of times, at business functions. He'd liked her, finding her natural and easy to get along with, but she was also fiercely protective of her father's interests. He knew even before they met again that day, she would be equally protective of her father's legacy.

Thinking of Mithian's attitude to her father made Arthur wonder if he would be the same if something happened to Uther. Would he fight to keep Pendragon Homes, which was, after all, his father's life's work, if it came down to it? When the baby was alive Arthur knew he would have known. He would have realised that it wasn't just Uther's legacy, or even his livelihood, that was at stake. It was Gwydre's future, the chance for him to have something tangible behind him, perhaps something for him to go into himself one day, or something he could sell off if he wanted, to enable him to make a life for himself, with a strong foundation.

When the meeting was over and Mithian left, gifting Leon with a dazzling smile and putting something Arthur couldn't see into his hand, Gwaine came over from behind the bar and told Arthur to come back for something to eat later. Arthur joked about being a guinea pig for Leon's latest recipe, but much to his surprise Gwaine didn't join in. "Just make sure you come back later, I want to talk to you about something." Arthur tried asking him what he wanted, but Gwaine wouldn't be drawn. In the end Arthur gave up, wondering when his friend had taken to being so secretive.

"Are you planning on doing any work at all today?" Uther's voice that morning in the office dragged Arthur out of thinking about how his life had come to living in a flat his best friends shared, sleeping on their floor and catching the odd evening meal in the bar of their restaurant, while the prospect of a divorce loomed on a horizon that suddenly seemed to be getting closer and closer.

Arthur was starting to feel as if his head was on the block and the axe was hovering dangerously above him. His dreams were filled with that lately, him with his head on the block, too exhausted to fight or argue while the axe-man, who is disguised by a mask that only allowed his eyes and hair to be clearly seen, lingers in the background. With the axe held menacingly in his hands, the axe-man edges forward. As he steps towards Arthur, something about the axe-man becomes strangely familiar; his skin colour is a rich golden brown. The eyes, glowing amber, while the hair, long and thick with curls, is as black as ebony. Arthur registers how short he is, how slight, for a man. He realises almost too late. This isn't a man at all. It's a woman.

Somewhere in his mind Arthur wonders if this tiny woman is going to be strong enough to do what he knows she is about to do. The thought terrifies him and his heart speeds up, to the point where he feels sick and faint. He feels his chest tighten and he pants, a desperate attempt to get some air. Then the axe begins its descent and everything goes black, but as it does, Arthur's last memory is of the mask coming off the woman. Though he expected it, Arthur's heart almost stops at the sight of Guinevere hovering above him, staring at him with the same blank expression she'd worn for months when she looked at him. Arthur wants to beg her not to do this. He wants to plead with her not to destroy him, but in his terror he can't make his voice work. Instead he pants harder, trying to grasp for any tiny breath of air and finding none. Then the axe falls, hurtling towards its goal, and Arthur wakes, gasping and covered in sweat.

Arthur cringed inwardly, knowing his mind had wandered again. "I, um…" He struggles to pull himself together and coughs uncomfortably. "I have that meeting with Mithian at lunch time and a couple of viewings before that," he forces himself to reply to his father as normally as possible.

Uther's eyes widen slightly and he frowns. "Are you sure you're up to it, you don't look…."

"I'm fine father," Arthur's voice is unconvincing, even to his own ears. "You wanted me to talk to Mithian and I will." His voice becomes harsh, annoyed that his father could manoeuvre him into having a meeting with Mithian and then question his ability to handle it.

Uther's frown deepens. "I just meant…"

Arthur glares. "I know what you meant father, and I'm perfectly fine, thank you." He rises from his desk and looks his father in the eye for a second, almost grinding his teeth in frustration. Uther stands back suddenly under the weight of Arthur's expression, giving Arthur room to move past him. He gets his things together quickly and heads out towards his car, unable to stay in that office a second longer. He knew he was going out much earlier than he needed to. For once he didn't care.

Much later, Arthur sat in the restaurant his friends owned, waiting for Mithian to arrive. While he waited Arthur looked around the place. It was light and airy, just modern enough to look smart, but comfortable too, with plenty of space for diners to sit and eat in a relaxed environment, the tables not placed formally, but scattered around liberally.

The bar was at the back of the restaurant, a little apart from the main dining area, which meant that diners didn't have to mix with those who just came in for a lunchtime or evening drink. It also worked well on the odd times when someone overdid the drinking a bit. It was easier to throw them out if they left by the back, rather than kicking out a drunk in front of a restaurant full of people.

Some of the tables were recessed back into alcoves, in order to create private spaces. Arthur pushed away a memory of a night he spent eating at one of those tables with Guinevere. He'd taken her out to dinner for her birthday, just a few months after the restaurant opened. Arthur remembered her laughing as she called him a cheapskate for taking her out to a restaurant their friends owned and getting a good deal on the food and wine. He'd tried to look affronted, showing her the receipt for their meal to demonstrate he'd paid full price for everything, but he didn't really care. Guinevere's happiness was contagious that night. Arthur could still remember the way her face lit up when he presented her birthday gift to her, a set of white gold jewellery, a necklace and earrings, he'd had especially made for her. Arthur could see the set on her now, the white gold dazzling against her skin, the pendant of the necklace a perfect tear-drop shape, which held a twenty point diamond in the droplet. The earrings were simple matching diamond studs that were neither too big nor too small, and were therefore perfect for Guinevere.

They'd had a wonderful evening together, enjoying each other's company, the good food and the best bottle of wine Leon had. Arthur still chuckled when he remembered how Leon's jaw dropped when he ordered the wine, a decent bottle that didn't come cheap. It was worth it, Arthur mused.

Arthur realised in retrospect, they'd conceived the baby that night. He and Guinevere went back to the flat, still laughing and joking with each other, not drunk, but having drunk enough of the wine to be relaxed. As Guinevere walked into the flat Arthur took a moment to look at her in her little black dress, her make up perfectly applied, her hair up in a knot, with a few wispy curls escaping to hug her beautiful face. It wasn't how she looked that made him want her though. It was her, the way she laughed, her smile, the way she did everything with such easy grace, the simple joy she took from the simplest things.

Guinevere must have realised she was being watched. She suddenly turned and faced him, gazing at him with an expectant look on her face, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. It didn't surprise him. Guinevere had always known him better than he knew himself. Gifting him with a tender, almost shy, smile, Guinevere held out her hand and he took it, clasping her delicate fingers in his hand as she led him to their bedroom.

They undressed each other that night, taking their time, enjoying each other's bodies in the moonlight, as it crept through the bedroom curtains. Guinevere let her hair down, the knot unfurling as her curls tumbled down her back. She held her arms out to him, a delicious enticement and a glorious invitation, and he went to her, taking her into his arms and holding her close. Her scent assaulted his senses, drawing him to her like a moth to a flame, while his hands began a journey of their own accord across the silky skin of her back. Guinevere soon responded in kind, touching him, stroking. He shuddered when she gently raked her nails from his shoulder blades to the base of his spine. She giggled at his reaction, delighting in the way his body responded to her touch, until her breath caught in her throat when he kissed the delicate skin between her neck and her shoulder, grazing the area gently with his teeth and then soothing it with his lips and tongue. He tasted her skin, a salty and sweet flavour that was uniquely her.

Soon kissing and touching wasn't nearly enough and Arthur picked Guinevere up in his arms, carrying her to their bed, where he put her down as if she was a piece of delicate porcelain, before climbing in beside her and taking her back into his arms.

"I love you more than anything you know," Guinevere whispered in the darkness.

"I love you", Arthur replied simply, unable to convey in this moment exactly what Guinevere meant to him, but through the night he showed her over and over again, until the first rays of the sun crept up over the horizon.

"Arthur?"

Arthur looked up, confused by the intrusion into his thoughts by a feminine voice. Then he remembered where he was and what he was there for and he stood, remembering his manners.

"Mithian, it's good to see you again, how are you?" He dragged a smile to his lips and stuck out a hand, which the woman, a tall brunette with big hazel eyes, took and shook gently in her own. Arthur indicated a seat on the opposite side of the table to himself and helped Mithian into it, before taking his own place again.

Mithian smiled warmly. "I'm very well, thank you, but you look tired Arthur, is Mr. Pendragon Snr working you too hard, or are you being kept up all night by other, more important, matters?"

Arthur did a double-take, "I don't know what you're talking about, I'm sure", he muttered, assuming Mithian was being inappropriate, considering they'd only met a few times previously. He wondered if it was a new trait she'd taken on since her father's death.

Mithian suddenly coloured and put her hands over her mouth. "I'm so sorry Arthur, I've just realised how that must have sounded!" she exclaimed, looking horrified as she took her hands away from her face. "I just meant that the last time we met, your wife, what's her name, Gwenda or…"

"Guinevere", Arthur supplied, his vocal cords caressing her name entirely of their own will. Somewhere inside he wondered if that would ever stop, the way he said her name as if it was a prayer.

Mithian nodded, blushing softly again. "Of course – well, she was pregnant wasn't she, so I thought maybe, by now, you'd have a young baby keeping you up in the night. Unless, of course, it's already beyond that point; I don't know very much about babies so…."

"He uh…..he died", Arthur jumped in, halting the flow of well meant words from his guest. He cleared his throat to hold back the emotions that always threatened to overwhelm him when he thought of Gwydre.

Mithian's face fell abruptly. "Arthur, I'm so sorry, I didn't know, or I would never have….." She stopped speaking, instinctively knowing that words were superfluous. The expression on Arthur's face, the sense of loss radiating from him, told its own story.

Arthur shook his head. "It's all right. I didn't tell too many people through work. You couldn't possibly have known."

"Do you….Do you mind me asking, what…?"

"It was sudden infant death syndrome, cot death," Arthur explained. "One minute he was alive and well, just starting to get the hang of smiling, and not smiling in a way he did when he had wind, but really smiling, as if he knew he'd seen something funny or something familiar, and the next he was gone. They had to do a post mortem, because it was considered a sudden death, but they couldn't find any reason for him to have died. He didn't have any underlying illnesses, not even an infection we didn't know about. He just died. It didn't seem very fair."

All the time Arthur was speaking, he was fiddling absently with the cutlery in front of him on the table. Mithian's hand reached out and stilled him just as he was about to pick up his fork.

"I'm so very sorry Arthur, it must have been so terrible for you, for both of you. How is Guinevere?" Her voice was even, but Arthur could see the tears she was holding back and he was grateful.

Arthur shook his head, wondering how Mithian had managed to unlock some of the memories he'd spent months trying to hide away. "I…um….I don't really know; we split up a few months after the baby died. We're in the process of a divorce."

Mithian's mouth fell open in disbelief. "I'm so sorry Arthur. I didn't know Guinevere very well, but you always seemed so happy together when we met at functions and things. I'm terribly sorry."

Arthur shrugged. "I suppose that's life, isn't it?" He aimed for nonchalance, unable, or unwilling, to share with Mithin how his relationship with Guinevere had collapsed since the baby died.

Mithian sighed and took a sip of a glass of water from the table in front of her. "Do you think there is any chance you might get back together one day, if you can sort out your difficulties? I know from my own experience, although I know it's in no way the same, grief is hard to overcome, but it can be done Arthur, if you work at it."

Arthur shook his head. "I think it's gone too far for that. Our decree nisi came through today."

"I'm so sorry," Mithian said, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Never mind," Arthur said, sitting up in his seat, forcing himself to take control again. "I didn't bring you here to discuss my private life, although please let me say how sorry I was to hear about your father's death. I only met him once I think, but he was a good man."

Mithian nodded sadly. "He was a good man, kind and gentle, but also fiercely protective of his business interests", she pulled a face at Arthur and he laughed quietly, knowing exactly what she meant. "That's probably why he got into this mess with your father, if I'm completely honest."

Arthur shook his head. "I doubt very much your father had much to do with what happened Mithian. I think my father was determined to get his hands on that land and didn't really care what it took to get it, but once he had it, he didn't have any idea what to do with it. If I had my way I would give you the land back, but unfortunately…." He let the rest of his thought hang in the air.

"Uther does know that land had been in my family for generations?" Mithian asked the question, stunned by Arthur's frankness. It was a world away from his father, at least according to what her father had told her of their dealings in the past.

"Probably", Arthur replied dryly. "I suspect that's why he's been dragging his feet about sorting something out about it. I think he thinks that if he leaves it long enough you will either go away or you'll pay anything to get the land back."

Mithian smiled, finding Arthur's honesty refreshing. "So we need to come up with something that allows your father to continue to think he's won, but also enables me to get the land back?"

Arthur smiled and nodded. "Something like that. Would you like to get something to eat while we discuss it? I can recommend the food here; my best friends own this place."

A couple of hours later, having eaten, talked, and introduced Mithian to both Gwaine and Leon, Mithian and Arthur managed to come to an arrangement that suited them both. It all hinged on Arthur knowing perfectly well that Uther had never had the land properly surveyed when he cheated Rodor out of it. The idea was to convince Uther there was something wrong with the land, something environmental that would be hard to prove without spending a lot of money, and then offering him a nominal sum of money, to help him get rid of some land he would never, according to 'experts' of course, ever be able to do anything with, thus saving him from the embarrassment, at least amongst the industry, that he hadn't had the land checked over for potential issues, something he should have been aware he needed to do.

Arthur was pleased they had managed to sort the issue out in a way that gave Mithian her land back, but also saved Uther from losing face. Uther might be underhand, he might be ruthless in his business dealings, but he was still Arthur's father. Arthur couldn't bring himself to make his father look stupid, however difficult their relationship could be.

Arthur was also pleased, and not a little amused, that Leon had seemed quite taken with Mithian when they were introduced. The feeling had appeared to be mutual. Indeed, by the end of the afternoon Arthur was starting to feel distinctly in the way. He wasn't at all surprised when Mithian slipped something into Leon's hand when she said goodbye to him as she left. Arthur couldn't see what it was, but he suspected it was a business card. He had a feeling however, that Mithian didn't have business in mind when she handed it over.

"So, what did you think of Leon's latest recipe then?" Arthur was dragged back to the present by Gwaine as he came over from the end of the bar, where two young women were propped, sipping some revolting looking cocktails and giggling as if they'd already had a few.

"It was all right", Arthur replied unenthusiastically. Then he smiled wryly. "You'd probably better tell him I said it was delicious, otherwise he'll take it personally."

Gwaine laughed. "I doubt he'll care, not after this afternoon."

"Mithian?" Arthur asked, grinning broadly.

Gwaine nodded and rolled his eyes. "Seriously mate, he's been in that kitchen for hours, whistling away to himself. I'm sure I even heard him singing at one point."

"Well, he's happy, so there's no harm in it, assuming he plucks up the courage to phone her."

"He already has, about an hour and a half after you went out of here this afternoon." Gwaine beamed good-naturedly. Then, out of nowhere, he became serious. "Speaking of women, I have something to tell you."

"Please tell me you are not having a sex change," Arthur dead-panned.

"Don't be stupid, I'm serious," Gwaine frowned, his tone dropping lower, to prevent them being overheard.

Arthur wondered, just as he had earlier, why Gwaine was being so discreet all of a sudden. It wasn't a trait he was known for. "Should you be standing around talking to me, aren't you supposed to be working?" As much as Arthur wanted to know what Gwaine was holding back, he didn't want Leon to come into the bar and start telling him off for keeping Gwaine from his customers.

"Hold on a second then", Gwaine said, glancing round the bar and then reaching underneath for a small bottle of orange juice and a glass. He removed the top with a bottle opener and poured the contents into the wine glass. "There you are." He pushed the glass in front of Arthur.

"What's this for?" Arthur asked. "I didn't ask for this."

"I know you didn't, stupid," Gwaine rolled his eyes again. "Now Leon can't say I'm talking when I should be working, can he? I'm talking to a customer."

"Who?" Arthur asked, looking around.

"You, you soppy sod, now do you want to know what I have to tell you, or what?"

Arthur sighed. "Go on then, let's hear it, but make it quick, I'm knackered."

Gwaine edged closer over the bar. "I saw Guinevere earlier on."

Of all the things Arthur expected Gwaine to say, he wasn't expecting that. His heart started to pound and he reached for the orange juice, suddenly wishing it was something a bit stronger. He forced himself to be calm. "Well Gwaine, believe it or not, she is entitled to go out from time to time, maybe she was on her way to a call or something." He sipped the orange juice and put it back down, deliberately ignoring the tremor his hand had suddenly developed.

"She was in the market. I think she was trying not to be seen," Gwaine said. "I think she tried to avoid me."

Arthur laughed. It sounded forced and false. He knew Gwaine would notice. "I think I understand that." He aimed for sarcasm. He hated the way it sounded so desperate.

To his credit Gwaine ignored his friend's bravado. Instead, he persisted in sounding serious. For some reason Arthur wished he wouldn't. "I was worried about her and I thought I should let you know, that's all."

Arthur's heart lurched painfully in his chest. Gwaine sounding serious was one thing. Gwaine saying he was worried was something else. "Worried, why? What's wrong with her?" He tried to hold back an urge to raise his voice.

Gwaine shrugged. "I don't know, but she didn't seem herself. She seemed detached, almost like she wasn't really there, and then your name was mentioned and…"

"By which one of you, Guinevere or you?" Arthur demanded urgently, without even knowing why.

"By me, I asked her to come round to the flat and talk to you, to see if you can sort things out. I didn't mean to upset her, I wouldn't upset Guinevere for the world, you know that, but the next thing I knew she got annoyed. She told me she couldn't, she said she was working, and she stormed off."

Arthur's heart sank. In spite of everything that had happened, it still stung when he realised the extent Guinevere had gone to in excluding him from her life.

"I'm sorry mate, I just didn't think it was right for me to see Guinevere and not tell you. She looked terrible Arthur, tired and worn out and really not well. I think she's lost weight too, and it's not as if she's carrying that much to start with, I just…."

"Well what do you want me to do Gwaine?" Arthur interrupted sharply. He knew he was being rude, but he couldn't stand listening to how much of a state Guinevere was in, not while she didn't want to know him.

Gwaine ignored Arthur's tone. Just the slight arch of his brows indicated he'd heard anything out of place. "I don't know. Maybe you could go around there, sit her down and talk to her, make her see sense. Maybe you could get her in here, on neutral ground, buy her a meal and a drink and talk to her."

"She won't talk to me Gwaine. She won't talk to me, she won't come near me. Now, thanks to you, I know she can't even stand to hear my name being mentioned, so why in the bloody hell do you think it would make the slightest bit of difference if I went round to the flat or invited her here?" Arthur couldn't help himself. He was getting frustrated. Gwaine was one of his closest friends, but sometimes Arthur couldn't believe how clueless he was.

"I was trying to help Arthur," Gwaine replied, his voice rising slightly. He stopped talking, took a breath and regained control. "I was just worried about the state Guinevere was in, that's all, but if you're too much of a coward to try to do something about it, on your head be it, but personally I wouldn't want that on my conscience."

"I'm not being a coward, I just…" Arthur struggled to find the words. He was furious. He gritted his teeth, desperately trying not to lose his temper. "Oh look, tell you what Gwaine, you just stay out of my business in future, all right, because you don't know what you're talking about."

Before Gwaine could think to stop him, Arthur was gone.

Ten minutes later, Arthur was halfway back to Leon and Gwaine's flat in his car. He was shaking in fury. How dare Gwaine try to make him feel responsible for whatever state Guinevere was in? How dare Gwaine stick his nose into things that weren't his business? The thoughts whizzed around in his head while he drove the short distance to the flat. He pushed away the images of Guinevere Gwaine had created, willing himself not to think of her all alone if she wasn't well. An image came into his mind, Guinevere when she was in labour with the baby. She'd clung to Arthur then, gripped his hands for all she was worth, when the pain became too much. She'd leaned on him, trusted him and took comfort from his presence in the room with her. Now she'd pushed him out of her life, and there was nothing he could do for her. She'd made it quite clear she didn't want him anymore and he wasn't about to force his way in to a situation where he was no longer wanted, even if he thought he should, even if he wanted to.

Arthur was sitting at a junction, waiting for the traffic lights in front of him to go green, letting him into the main road that would take him through the town and to the safety of Leon and Gwaine's flat. The lights changed and Arthur was relieved, his mind going back to berating Gwaine for his interference. Arthur was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he almost didn't see the other car at first as it shot down the road ahead, just as his light turned green and he went to pull out of the junction. He slammed on his brakes, bringing his car to a sudden halt. The car he'd almost hit had stopped, the driver must have realised what they'd done, recklessly driving through a red light on the main road, narrowly missing the traffic coming from the junction.

Arthur saw red. He grabbed at his seatbelt and took it off, shoving it out of his way as he got out of his car, heading towards the other car. He was going to give the fool in the car in front of a piece of his mind.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?" Arthur yelled as he approached the car. "WERE YOU ACTUALLY TRYING TO GET US BOTH KILLED OR…."

The rest of Arthur's words died on his lips. Suddenly he wished he'd stayed in his car. For the first time he really registered the car he'd almost hit. It was a bright red mini, an old one. He knew without being told, it had thousands of miles on the clock, but it was still going strong, still utterly reliable.

The other driver sat in the mini, staring straight ahead while Arthur was yelling, but turning towards him when he stopped. She made no move to get out of the car, or speak to Arthur in any way. Instead she stared at him impassively, almost like he was invisible and Arthur felt something in his chest tighten. Stunned, Arthur stood back about a foot or so, trying to get to grips with his first sight of his wife in months. He couldn't quite believe it when the car he'd just narrowly missed started up again and Guinevere drove away.


End file.
